


Scar Tissue

by RimauSuaLay



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, First Time, Friendship, Immortals, M/M, Mental Breakdown Leading to Revenge, Methos' past, Mind Games, POV First Person, Post Indiscretions, The Ahriman Arc Never Happened, Unreliable Narrator, Watchers, mentions of sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 80,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7805167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RimauSuaLay/pseuds/RimauSuaLay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan MacLeod wants to live his life in peace, enjoy the company of his friends and his work. He also needs to make sense of the things he's been through these past few years, especially with the oldest and most annoying of the Immortals. </p>
<p>That's all he really wants and needs right now. </p>
<p>But what if people he thinks of as friends want something else? Like revenge. </p>
<p>- This fic was originally published in  September 2000.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar Tissue

**Author's Note:**

> Rating would probably be closer to Mature if I only rated the sexual content of the story. Methos' past as one of the Horsemen is explored in this fic, so if discussion and very vivid thoughts of having been through rape and pillaging are triggering, please don't read the fic. There is no actual rape in the fic. 
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful Wolfsbride, special thanks to Kelly and Malene for their help. All the remaining mistakes are mine.

Cast a cold eye.  
On life,  
on death.  
Horseman passes by.  
         ~W. B.Yeats

 

**Prologue:  
** Paris  


The first flowers of spring had been blooming for a week now. Deep reds and shy yellows were mixed in a glory that was almost unearthly. The whole park was filled with the intoxicating scent of new life. It was drawing young couples to linger among the flowers just as it was attracting multitudes of butterflies. The soft winged insects flew over the blossoms, dancing from one flower to another. Carrying new life with them.

Sister Marie Clemens closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Days like this always reminded her of the reasons she'd joined the order. The love she felt towards God and all his creations. Surely the beauty of spring was proof of God's existence. A wonder that she was awed of. Every year she felt the same, even though she knew that spring would come. 

She looked around her, keeping an eye on the dozen or so children who were playing in the small park near the riverbank. Some of the older boys were flying a kite and one of the girls was picking flowers, but most of the children were just running around, marveling at the wonders of nature. Seeing such innocence and freedom one could find only in animals and small children gave her great joy.

"It's a lovely day, Sister." 

She smiled at the older gentleman, who was once again feeding the birds near the small cluster of trees. "It is, Monsieur. After weeks of rain, it's wonderful to see the children have a chance to play outside without the danger of catching a cold."

"Indeed." He nodded, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Must also be a relief to see that the ground isn't all that muddy anymore."

Crossing herself theatrically, Marie Clemens grinned. "Thank the Lord for that. The sound of the washing machine was making all the Sisters dizzy. It's quite astonishing how much laundry eleven little children can make in just one day."

"I am a grandfather of five, and my daughter complains about the same thing every spring and autumn. Too bad it's not fashionable for children to imitate Adam and Eve. That way there would be no clothes to be cleaned."

They both chuckled. 

The Sister was a little surprised to hear the man say something about his personal life. She'd known him for seven years, but he'd never even told her his name. And she'd never asked, respecting his privacy. She enjoyed his company, the often cynical remarks, and the outrageous sense of humor that was sometimes almost blasphemous. Almost, but not quite. She didn't mind. Knowing that God had a sense of humor, she always laughed at the man's jokes. 

"Is that one of yours?" The old man gestured at the little boy, who was running around the park with a stick in his hand. "I haven't seen him before."

The nun nodded, keeping her eyes on the boy as she answered, "Yes. Nicholas just arrived to our home last week." Her heart ached at the memory of seeing the police escort the bruised child to his new home.

"He's not playing with the other children, eh?"

Since it wasn't against her vow of secrecy to answer the question, she shook her head. "No. He likes to be on his own. Sometimes he likes to draw or paint in the company of the others, but usually he plays alone."

"How sad."

"Yes, it is." The Sister frowned as Nicholas threw his stick at a tree, and then let herself relax, when the little boy slowly walked closer to a woman who was standing by the riverbank, holding a paintbrush in her hand and staring at the river over her canvas. 

The painter cocked her head slightly, as if feeling the nun's eyes on her back. She glanced over her shoulder and then returned her attention to her work. The Sister sighed a little. She'd never seen a smile on the woman's face, even though she'd seen her in the park for months. During the winter, she had just stood there, staring at Seine. Sometimes Marie Clemens had seen her sitting on a bench, wrapped in a heavy woolen coat, but more often she had her easel and a canvas with her. 

There was something about her that made the nun sad. Maybe her eyes. The golden depths looked far too old for her face. She looked like she'd seen all the sorrows in the world. It made the Sister want to comfort her, but the only time she'd approached the strange woman, the painter had just walked away. 

Marie Clemens hoped the woman would find some peace, even from her solitude.

Trusting that Nicholas wouldn't bother the painter woman, the nun turned to gaze at the other children. When she saw what was going on near a huge tree at the far edge of the park, she closed her eyes for a second and then excused herself. The older man smiled knowingly, and nodded, continuing to feed his winged friends. 

Two of the boys who had been flying the kite began to scream at each other, as the kite landed on the top of a very tall tree. The nun hurried to prevent a fight. After a few firm words, she measured the tree with her gaze, trying to decide whether or not it was safe for the older boy to retrieve his kite. 

"All right, René. You may climb up, but be very careful."

The boy flashed her a grin, and scurried up the branches. Marie Clemens shook her head, amused of the child's enthusiasm. The kite had been a birthday present from the Mother Superior, who was a favorite person of René's. Losing the kite would hurt him more than losing some ordinary toy would, and so she was happy to see that he was able to get it safely back to the ground.

When the boys had the kite back in the air, she returned to the old man's side. The man had emptied his small bag of crumbs and birdseeds, and was now sitting on a bench in the shadow of yet another huge tree. 

"I hope you don't mind if I join you."

He smiled at her. "Of course not. There's room…"

A shrill scream made both of them jump to their feet. There was another scream, and the nun ran towards the sound. Seeing that Nicholas was unharmed, even though his whole face and hands were covered with paint, she hurried to the painter woman, who was curled on the ground, rocking herself back and forth, whimpering something in a strange language.

The elderly man knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. When the woman made another desperate sound and flinched away from his touch, he lifted his hand, but didn't move farther away. 

His voice was soft as he murmured a few soothing phrases, and then asked, "Madame? Are you hurt?"

"No! No more. Please…"

"Did the child accidentally hit you?" Seeing the woman shake her head, he looked a little confused. "Did he say something?"

The golden eyes were full of misery as she raised her gaze to the man's face. It was obvious that she didn't really see him. She was trapped inside her mind. 

"Should we call for an ambulance?" Sister Marie Clemens' voice was concerned. Before being transferred to Paris, years ago, she had worked in a mental hospital in Toulouse, and she knew the signs of a breakdown when she saw them.

"That might be a good idea. She's quite obviously in a shock. Might be some kind of a post traumatic shock." The man raised an eyebrow when he saw the surprised look on the nun's face. "I worked for almost thirty years in the military, Sister. I've seen this before."

The nun nodded. Thinking about the woman's behavior, she thought he was probably right. Something had happened to the poor soul, and she'd tried to hide or run from it without any success. "I wonder what triggered this." She pulled Nicholas closer to her. "Nickie, did you say something to the Madame?"

"No…" The little boy sniffed. The woman's screams had scared him and tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I just wanted to paint…"

Seeing that the paint was mingling with the tears, running down his face and towards the collar of his relatively clean shirt, the Sister fished a handkerchief from out of her pocket, and knelt in front of the child. "Here, let me clean your face."

Her words had a surprising effect on the crying woman. She fixed her gaze on the dirty little face, and snarled, "No! Never again!"

"Madame?" The man tried to touch her arm, as she scrambled to her feet, but she shrugged him off. 

She wasn't crying anymore, and there was no trace of misery in her eyes either. They were burning now in cold rage. Pointing at the young boy with her finger she hissed something, and then spat on the ground. "I will make you suffer. Mark my words. When I'm through with you, you'll wish I had just killed you." Then she turned around and ran to the trees. 

A small crowd had gathered near the riverbank, and all the people stared at where she'd disappeared with shock. Then they turned back to the nun, who was now holding the crying little boy in her arms, not caring that he was getting her jacket all dirty with blue paint.

* * *

**Seacouver**

Something had been bothering me the whole evening. Nothing special had happened, no challenges for weeks, no old acquaintances dropping by, not even a drunken brawl here at Joe's.

Still, I had an odd feeling that something wasn't right. 

It was nothing tangible, just a strange itch between my shoulder blades. And yet it made me wary. In my 400 years of existence, I'd grown to rely on my instincts. On occasion I hadn't paused to listen to those warning signs, and I'd usually ended up with more trouble than I could describe.

This time I hoped that uncomfortable feeling came from long hours instead of being a premonition of approaching doom. I really didn't need any trouble. I just wanted to have a nice evening, a nice _year_ if possible. There had been enough excitement in my life that year. No more.

Trying to shake the feeling off, I took a sip from my glass and let the scotch pour down my throat, leaving that wonderful burning sensation behind. It was funny how that never changed, even after centuries of getting used to the taste of it. 

It tasted like home. Bringing back the memories of mist gathering over the moors, the scent of the heather in the morning dew, and the heavy odor of the peat bogs.

I'd spent years traveling the world, wanting to see every far-off land, needing that kind of sense of freedom. It had been exhilarating to cross wide oceans and deserts, to meet different people, to learn new things. The fact that I'd made both friends and enemies everywhere I went kept my balance. It confirmed my belief that the world was full of good people and good things worth defending. 

But still… The longer I stayed away from home, the harder it became to return there. And now it was impossible.

The choice had been made. I'd made it when I'd left Scotland for the first time all those years ago, even though I hadn't really understood it back then. My roots were in the Highlands, but unlike my cousin, I couldn't go back living there. Not now, maybe not ever. There were too many painful memories for me. The loss of Debra Campbell, my first sweetheart. The rejection in my father's eyes. Battles fought and lost. Shattered dreams.

For years it had been enough for me to just drift from place to place, from one friend to another. Of course there had been countries and cities I'd visited more often than others, but it had still been visiting. Until I'd decided that it was time to settle down, choosing two different cities, on two different continents, to live in. I needed that freedom, and yet there was now the feeling that I had settled down somehow.

That had worked surprisingly well. While it lasted, that is. Now I wasn't all that sure about it anymore.

Life had gotten complicated in Paris. Too complicated. Maybe I should have returned to Seacouver right after that nightmare in Bordeaux. But I'd really thought that I could stay in France and continue with my life there like nothing had happened. I'd tried to rebuild my life there, determined to make things work. Even the ghosts of _my_ past and then the grief the poet had caused couldn't drive me away. 

I didn't want to admit it to myself, really, but I was glad to get an invitation from Claudia to visit her, and hear her play in London. It was just what I needed, a break from all the gloom. And then when she left England to head to Japan, I couldn't return to Paris after all.

Maybe it was best that way. Maybe that way all the bad memories would start to fade away.

During my absence, something had happened with the Watchers. I phoned Joe from London, to tell him that I wouldn't be coming back and to ask if he could make sure that the barge was taken care of. He mentioned that there had been some trouble when one of the Watchers had been kidnapped, but it was clear that he was reluctant to talk about it. I didn’t want to pry, so I changed the subject.

Joe did sound a little weary, though, and I wasn't all that surprised to see him at the Seacouver airport when I arrived there. It seemed that he needed some time away from the old world, too. 

Paris, City of Love. Sadly, it wasn't that for me anymore. 

I wasn't all that sure I belonged here in Seacouver either, but at least I had a life here. And a friend. Joe Dawson. I guess I felt guilty about all that had happened in that horrible week before I’d left Paris, the tension over Byron, and finally the death of a brilliant musician. A young man who just happened to be a friend of my Watcher's before he was killed by an Immortal. 

We'd gone through good times and bad, both suffering because of our friendship as well as enjoying it. Being my Watcher was Joe's life's work. A mortal lifetime mostly spent recording living history. He loved being a bar owner, but deep down inside he was a scholar, a historian, a Watcher. Many have called me essentially selfish man, but I wasn't so selfish to destroy his whole life by walking away.

A few years back --hell, maybe even a few _months_ back-- I probably would have. But not now. Not anymore.

Unfortunately I wasn't Joe's only Immortal friend. A few weeks after we'd returned to States, I entered Joe's with caution, feeling a Presence, only to find Methos sitting by the counter, drinking beer. A part of me was thrilled to see him. In just three years I'd grown to enjoy his company. But there was also the part that told me not to trust him, to keep away from him. The part that kept reminding me that there was more to him than just that friendly and caring man I'd come to like. 

It was awkward at first. Or rather, I felt awkward around him. In time, the feeling faded. It never went completely away, though.

We both knew why we stayed there even though getting as far from Seacouver as possible would have probably done wonders for my mental health. We didn't talk about it, though. 

It wasn't really a subject I liked to even think about, even though it was one of the certainties of life to my kind. We made mortal friends. We spent time together, saw them grow old, and then finally buried them. Still we needed to make such friends, to keep our humanity. I had such a friend now. Maybe the best mortal friend I'd ever had, and possibly would ever have. It had taken me a long time to really comprehend that, but now that I had, I was determined not to waste that friendship.

So I'd more or less committed myself to live in Seacouver for the next twenty or thirty years. It seemed that Methos had somewhat similar intentions. I wasn't delusional enough to think that he'd spend decades in that little town, but I was pretty sure that he wouldn't disappear for good. Not as long as Joe lived. 

It was obvious that something had happened between him and my Watcher, and the old man seemed to spend more time at the cozy little bar than ever before. I wasn't all that happy about his decision, but I understood the reasons for it. After all, during his millennia of existence, Methos must have lost more friends than I’d ever even made.

I was getting really depressed by my train of thoughts. 

There was no reason for the somber mood really. The band was still playing, even though Joe was taking a break, chatting with Methos by the counter as usual. The atmosphere in the bar was even cheery, as if people were really going to take all out of the last summer weekend. The next week would see the beginning of September, and the last summer of the millennium would be over. 

Waving my hand at the waitress, I ordered myself another glass of single malt, determined not to brood. I thought about Methos instead, feeling that at least he wasn't making me depressed. Just a little wistful, I guess. 

His presence in Seacouver didn't disturb my life as much as I'd feared. There were too many wounds healing between us for us to really relax in each other's company the way we used to before the horrors of Bordeaux, so things didn't return to exactly what they'd been. But we got along just fine, as long as we stayed clear of the delicate subjects. 

The evenings spent at my place, drinking whiskey, playing chess, debating about various subjects had been extremely rare for two months or so, but then it seemed that we were getting back to our old routine. The first time I got home from work and found him sprawled on the couch, I was so relieved I didn't even mind that he was resting his feet on the coffee table. After that he came to the loft once or twice a week. 

Some things had changed, though. He'd clammed up about his past after I'd taken Byron's Quickening. No more hilarious stories about him knowing Alexander the Great or having performed Juliet in Shakespeare's original casting. There was some tension between us, too. More than before, that is. It kept us on our toes, away from all those subjects that could be misinterpreted. 

I continued my life at the dojo. Trying to balance my time between teaching martial arts and appreciation for the great talents of long gone painters. Methos got himself an apartment not far from Joe's. And the little bar was the only place where everything was really as if nothing had changed. Maybe it was the music, or the atmosphere, but it was impossible to dwell on all the downsides of life there.

Staring at my drink, I sighed. If that was really true, why was I feeling so low right then? Shouldn't I be leaning on the counter with Methos, instead of sitting here, thinking about gloomy things?

"Brooding again, MacLeod?"

I raised my gaze from my glass to see Methos standing by the table with an ever-present bottle of beer in his hand. He nodded slightly towards the empty chair on the other side of the table, and when I didn't say anything, he sprawled on it. Behind him, I saw Joe heading towards the stage, perhaps joining the band for the last few songs of the evening. 

"Not brooding. Thinking. Two completely different things." Smiling a little, I raised the glass to my lips. "If I were brooding, I'd have the whole bottle of scotch here."

Methos nodded again, his expression dead serious. "Brooding is thirsty business." His hazel eyes twinkled as he took a swig from his bottle, too. "So, what are you thinking of, may I ask?"

"You already did." He was incorrigible. "Life."

He raised an eyebrow. "Life?"

"Yeah. Life." That was as good an answer as any. It was also the truth. A part of it anyway. 

I didn't want to say out loud what I was thinking about. It wasn't a conversation that should be had at Joe's, when my friend and Watcher was singing on the small stage, and I'd already had a glass of whiskey. I wasn't sure it was a conversation that should be had at all. For at least a couple of decades, maybe even centuries. No reason to prod healing wounds. They'd only start to fester.

Methos nodded. "To life." He took another drink. 

"So, I heard from Joe that you're going to start a new career here in Seacouver. Teaching at the U?" You wouldn't believe how quickly the gossip reached everyone at the Seacouver University, especially when there would be a new professor working in one of the most popular departments. Of course it was possible that there was more than one A. Pierson in the academic world, but somehow I doubted they were all that interested in our little university. Or in linguistics.

A slight smile proved me right. "Yep. The summer's almost over, and I think I've had enough vacation for a while." He leaned back on his chair. "I don't want to waste all those years spent in Paris, working to get my diploma."

I grunted. So he was staying for a while. It was good to know that, but I wasn't all that sure it was a good thing that he stayed. 

We'd just began to re-form our relationship. Maybe some distance would have been a good idea. But then again I wasn't all that certain Methos could handle 'a little distance'. If I told him to leave me alone for couple of decades, it was probable that he really would leave me alone. For good. 

Besides, he was a friend of Joe's. I couldn't just drive him away, or worse yet, make those two hide their friendship from me. For a man who claimed he had no conscience, Methos was surprisingly loyal to his friends, and I knew he wouldn't just disappear from Joe's life. 

My curiosity couldn't handle that. If my Watcher knew about Methos' whereabouts and I didn't, I would go insane.

Joe's voice faded away, and then the soft sound of his guitar died also. I looked at the stage, and saw that he was getting up, obviously deciding that it was time to stop playing. It was only about an hour till closing time, and he had things to do before he could get home.

Like chatting with his friends. After exchanging a few words with a group of girls near the stage, he approached the table we were sitting at. "MacLeod. Adam. Good to see you two are still here."

"Where else would we be?" Methos' voice was teasing. "You have the best stocked bar in Seacouver."

Joe nodded at the compliment and then grinned. "Oh, yes. I'm sure that's the only reason you two come here night after night." He waved at one of his employees, and then turned back to us, his expression changing a little. "I need to talk with you about something."

It was clear that his 'something' meant 'someone'. "Who?" I hoped it wasn't anything unpleasant. I definitely wanted some peace in my life.

"Richie." Seeing my curious expression, he nodded. "You haven't heard from him either?"

"Not since he sent me a postcard from Greece, no. It seems that he's turning vacationing into an art form." My former student had decided that he'd had enough fighting for a while, and he'd 'retired' to the Mediterranean. 

My Watcher smiled. "It's good for him. I've heard that it's good for his Watcher, too." There was an amused glint in his eyes. 

I had to hide my own smile. Obviously it was a bit difficult to Watch someone at a beach, where you couldn't really hide your wrist under a sleeve. I wondered if Richie had recognized his Watcher yet, and if so, how had he reacted. If I had to put money on a wager, I would have guessed that he'd approached the Watcher and offered to buy him a drink. He was certainly one of a kind, my former student. 

The waitress brought Joe a cup of coffee, and Methos a new bottle of beer. Even though the old man hadn't ordered it, he smiled at the young woman as he lifted the bottle to his lips. I noticed the way she blushed and then hurried away from our table.

"It seems our old friend here has made another conquest without even saying a word." Joe smiled at Methos, shaking his head a little. "I wish I'd learn how to do that." He was obviously teasing the old man for something he'd said or done earlier.

It felt weird to be left outside a joke like that. I smiled slightly, but inside there was a spark of something I really didn't want to call jealousy. That would have been petty. 

There was laughter in the hazel eyes. "It's all talent, kid. You either have it, or…"

Both Methos and I turned to look at the door as the Presence of another Immortal washed over us. There was no trace of the bantering man in my friend. He was all action. Joe's expression had changed from amused to worried as Methos' words had been cut off so suddenly, and he craned his neck to see the reason of our interest, too.

The door slammed open, and a tall man in a navy blue overcoat stepped inside. My mind scanned him immediately; short brown hair, blue eyes, well trimmed mustache. He didn't seem familiar, but he made shivers run down my spine anyway. I'd never seen the man before, but I had seen the likes of him. His stance was full of arrogance, and his eyes were cold. 

A headhunter. 

Damn!

Joe had a wary look on his face, as he surveyed the stranger. When he met my gaze, he shook his head slightly. Apparently the man wasn't all that known, and considering the fact that he was quite clearly a hunter, he had to be young. Otherwise my Watcher should have recognized him by sight.

The man had locked his eyes on us, and then walked through the crowd towards our table. Literally. One of the waitresses almost dropped her tray, as he pushed her out of his way. He didn't pay any attention to her objections. He just continued advancing us.

I got to my feet, ready to meet the arrogant bastard. "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the…"

"I know who you are. I'm not here for you." The pale blue eyes focused on the man on my right side. "I'm here for you."

Methos stood up slowly. "You're obviously mistaken of the person. I'm not in the Game. I've never seen you before. I don't have the slightest idea of who you are and I couldn't really care less." He kept both his voice and demeanor calm and relaxed.

"But I know exactly who you are, _Methos_."

I could hear Joe take a sharp intake of breath. Feeling a little stunned myself, I had no idea of what to say, and just stood there, wondering what Methos would do next.

My friend kept his eyes on the stranger. "I don't want to fight with you."

"But I do. I challenge you, Methos. It's your choice whether we go out and fight in private, like it's supposed to be done, or do we just fight here." The man moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

He was obviously mad! The bar was full of people. People, who were now staring at us. We were making quite a scene. The newcomer was keeping his piercing gaze on Methos, who had a wary look on his face. Joe and I were just standing there, watching the two of them.

Methos nodded slightly. "Outside."

"After you."

There was cold amusement in my friend's eyes. "Any more jokes you might want to make?"

The blank look on the young man's face was unnerving. He shrugged, and then headed towards the door. Methos followed him without looking back.

I turned back to the table, intending to sit down and finish my whiskey. Joe had already lowered himself to a chair, and he was gesturing at a waitress. After ordering himself a drink, he leaned his elbows on the table, and sighed, "That was bad."

"Yes, it was." My glass was almost at my lips, but I didn't make the final move to drink from it. "How the hell did he know who Methos is?"

"Could he be someone he knew in the past?"

That was highly unlikely. "I don't think so." Yet, there was something hauntingly familiar about the man. Or not in the man himself, but the way that he acted.

Joe smiled at the waitress and then took a sip from his glass, the cup of coffee all forgotten. Sighing contently, he lowered the glass. "I don't know, Mac. There was something in his eyes I didn't like. I've seen dozens of Immortals, either from eye to eye or in pictures, but that look…" He shook his head, and took another sip.

I nodded. "Yeah." There was something in the eyes of such men who spent their whole lives hunting and killing others. Something I never wanted to see again.

"It really spooked me, Mac. There was something I could recognize in him. I could swear I'd seen that…" 

"What?" I lowered my glass too, as I saw the shocked look on my Watcher's face.

"My God! It's almost identical to the look you gave me after I'd shot you!"

Shot me? There was only one time he'd done that intentionally, and I tried to remember everything around that event. I blinked a few times, and then it hit me. 

Yes, that made sense. Of course he'd seen that in my eyes, just as I'd seen it in Jim Coltec's eyes just before I took the Dark Quickening. The burning fire of total darkness, total madness, combined with the lack of any feelings except hate. "Methos! I have to stop him!"

Not even bothering to see Joe's reaction, I pushed the chair back and hurried to the door. Once I was out of the bar, I rushed to the alley behind Joe's. It was the most likely place for the duel.

My heart was pounding as I ran, praying that I would make it in time. I was pretty sure that the man wouldn't beat Methos, but if he was indeed overwhelmed by evil, my friend wouldn't just be facing one young man, but dozens, maybe hundreds of seasoned fighters. The hunter would be a dangerous opponent even for a cunning old man like Methos. He could easily lose his head, if he underestimated the man. 

Or he could lose his soul if he won.

The sound of steel hitting steel confirmed that I'd been right about where they'd go, and I sped my pace to reach the alley in time. At least they were still in the middle of the fight, and I could do something to keep my friend alive. And sane. I didn't want to think of what I would do if the headhunter killed Methos. My cup of negative feelings had overflown once, and that was quite enough to me. I didn't think I'd be able to handle another Dark Quickening, especially without Methos at my side to help me save my soul.

I should have asked Joe to follow me with a shotgun and an ax. That way if things got really bad, he could handle me before I could cause mayhem in Seacouver. Cursing my blindness, my ignorance and overall stupidity, I dodged a trash can and finally entered the alley.

It was pretty dark in there, and my ears told me what was happening a few seconds before my eyes could distinguish the dark figure kneeling in front of the other. Methos' voice, husky from the exertion of the fight, stated, "There can be only one."

Then his sword made a cutting motion, and the now headless headhunter slumped to the ground.

"No!" I was frozen to my feet, unable to move closer to him. No, damn it. No! Not him!

Methos turned to face me. "Mac? Wha… _aah_!"

I had to close my eyes for a moment, when the darkness turned into light as the Quickening hit him. The headless body rose in the air, the life-force seeping out into a shroud of white mist all around it. Then the corpse landed hard on the ground, as the brightness attacked Methos, making him fling his arms to the side and throw his head back. 

It wasn't a normal Quickening, with the lightning-like energy bursts hitting the one who had killed the other Immortal. No, it was something far more violent, far stronger. 

The scream that had started when the first flash of electricity had struck my friend broke, and then there was an even more desperate wail, as Methos shook with the destructive power of the Quickening. The trash cans all around me were exploding, and a circle of flames appeared around the lone figure holding the sword. 

Nothing I'd ever witnessed or experienced came even close to this. Methos was at the center of a storm, and it seemed like all the hell was raging over him. He raised his hands towards the sky, and the sword slipped from his grip as he began to convulse. Unlike usual Quickenings, this one seemed to grow as minutes went by, and it was obvious from the keening sound he made, that every single wave of the headhunter's life energy that hit Methos caused him unbearable agony. 

I was hunched against the wall, wishing that the screams would end, that he would finally absorb the Quickening. At the same time I prayed that he wouldn't. That I wouldn't have to face him afterwards. Methos and a Dark Quickening. How much worse would he be than I'd been? How much hate and fear and horrors he could handle? Would this fill him with other ones' madness, or would it bring forward something from his own past? 

Would he still remember everything, just like I had remembered when I'd tried to kill Richie and then slaughtered an old friend, but still couldn't stop myself? Hadn't _wanted_ to stop myself, since it all felt so good.

When the silence came, I didn't recognize it at first. I think I must have been in a shock. Then I heard a soft whimpering sound, and words repeated over and over again. "No, God, no. Not this, no. God, no…" It took me a while to realize that the sounds were coming from my throat.

Forcing myself to stop wailing, I got to my feet and drew my sword. The firm handle of my katana didn't feel all that calming and reassuring. I was going to confront my friend with a drawn sword. It did not make me happy. 

Methos had fallen on his knees in a stinking puddle of filthy water, and he hadn't made a move since the Quickening had passed. 

"Methos?"

There was no answer. He didn't even look up as he heard my voice. I moved closer to him, and then kicked his sword farther away from him. The sound of the clattering steel on asphalt went unnoticed by him, too.

"Methos? Can you hear me?" I touched his shoulder with the flat of my sword. No response. I nudged him a little harder, and almost jumped back, as he just swayed a little. Realizing that it was an involuntary move, caused by the shove I'd given him, I raised the blade to his neck, careful not to cut him. "I will take your head if you don't answer me!" 

Of course I wouldn't have done anything to harm him, but I had to try to get him to say something, to do something. 

Still no response. Lowering my blade, I crouched in front of him, holding my coat up so that it didn't get wet. 

I raised my hand to his cheek and turned his head so I could see his face. When my eyes met his, I yanked my hand back as if it had been burned. The emptiness in his gaze was horrifying. There were no emotions there, not even hatred. It almost seemed as if he couldn't see me. 

He didn't even blink when I reached out to him again and then slapped his face. Hard. 

Nothing.

Feeling an urge to either scream or gag, I got up, and then fastened my sword under my coat. Bending down, I took his ivanhoe, and shoved it next to my katana. Then I hauled him to his feet. He didn't resist, but he didn't help me either. He was like a mindless puppet.

"Come on, Methos. Let's get you out of here."

There was no sign that he'd heard me. I took a few steps towards the main road, holding him up with an arm around his waist, and sighed with relief as he followed my steps. At least I didn't have to carry him. Letting go of him, I continued to walk, and then stopped when I realized that Methos wasn't following me.

Gaelic is a perfect language for cursing, and I used every single epithet I knew as I returned to his side, and continued walking him. He followed me automatically, taking the steps as my arms prodded him to.

Fortunately there was no one outside Joe's and I could get him to my car with minimum fuss. It wouldn't have been easy for me to try to explain anyone what I was doing. After he was seated in the passenger seat, with the seatbelt on so that he wouldn't slump into a boneless heap, I scurried to the bar.

Joe was still sitting at the table, a worried look on his face, as he saw me. "Methos? Is he alive?" 

If you could call it that. "Yes." 

"What happened?" His voice was stern, calm. It was good one of us was.

"I don't know. He killed the other Immortal, but… It wasn't a Dark Quickening, but it wasn't an ordinary one either. I think…" Damn, I didn't even know what I thought. "There's something very wrong with him."

"Where is he?"

"In the car. I had to put him there, Joe. He didn't say anything, or even move on his own. He's completely catatonic." My hands were starting to shake a little. I squeezed them together to keeping it from showing.

Joe got up, and began to walk towards the door. "Let's go see him."

I followed him to my car like a frightened puppy. In a way that wasn't all that far from the truth. I was terrified of what was going on. I'd had to deal with friends \--both mortal and Immortal-- who suffered from mental illness before, but this felt different from anything I'd ever witnessed before. After four centuries of living, unexplained things got on my nerves. If not a Dark Quickening, what the hell had just happened?

Methos hadn't moved while I'd been inside the bar. He was sitting there exactly the way I'd left him hands on his lap, his eyes staring into the distance.

"Methos? Can you hear me?" My Watcher leaned a little closer to the immobile man, holding on to the roof of the car so that he'd have a better balance. "Methos? It's me, Joe. Are you okay?"

The old man could have been made of wax. He just sat there.

"I tried talking to him. Didn't work, just like slapping him, or threatening to behead him didn't either."

Joe's eyes widened as he turned his gaze to me. "You tried to behead him?"

"No. I said, I threatened to. He didn't react in any way." I was glad that my voice wasn't shaking. 

"I've never seen anything like this before!" My Watcher shook his head. "And I've never read about this level of catatonia in an Immortal as old as he is. A young one could be overwhelmed by an old one's Quickening, but we're talking about the oldest guy in the world here."

Yeah, I'd noticed that. "Could you check the records anyway?"

He nodded immediately. "As soon as I get back inside. There are search codes and cross-references for every single event that's ever happened to Immortals. If we've stumbled into anything like this before, I'll find it."

"Good." 

"Mac? What will you do to him?" Joe looked concerned. "I don't think it would be wise to just drop him off at his place. What if some other headhunter is stalking him, too?"

I nodded. The thought had crossed my mind. "I'll take him home." Seeing his frown, I added, "To my place. I can keep an eye on him there."

Straightening up, Joe stepped away from my car, and closed the door. "That's a good idea. Get going. I'll go and check the records." He threw a quick look over his shoulder, his eyes focusing on the fallen dumpsters. "And I'll make sure no one will stumble into a headless corpse. As usual."

"Thanks, Joe."

"It's all a part of the service." He gave me a wry smile, and then headed back to the bar.

I walked to the other side of the car and then sat on the driver's seat. "So it's just you and me now." It was a bit eerie to sit beside a living, breathing man, who acted like a very poorly reanimated corpse. That thought made me turn a little, and I placed my hand on his neck, trying to feel his pulse with my fingers, even though the slight buzzing somewhere in the back of my mind indicated that he was very much alive. 

"Right." I removed my hand from his throat and then rubbed the side of my face. "Let's get going."

The drive through the dark city wasn't all that easy, considering the shock I'd just had, _and_ the two glasses of whiskey I'd drank earlier. I drove at snail's pace, not wanting to cause any accidents. I'd rolled both the windows down, and kept breathing the cool night air, hoping that it would clear my head. The fresh air also kept me from vomiting. The stench of gutter was quickly filling the whole car. 

When we reached the dojo, I hopped out of the car, and then pulled Methos to his feet, cursing, as he almost fell to the ground. After locking the car's doors, I once again wrapped my arm around his waist, and guided him inside the building.

It was easier to go through the dojo than using the stairs. I walked him to the elevator, swallowing as he stood there like a zombie as I raised the wooden gate. A gentle shove made him step into the elevator, and then I followed him, lowering the gate.

The silence was a bit unnerving, and I cleared my throat. "Methos?"

More silence.

"I don't know if you can hear me or not, but in case you can, I want you to know that Joe and I are doing everything possible to get you back."

Well, now. That sounded lame. But what the hell did you say to a man who was in a condition like his? "I bet you'd laugh at me right now if you could." I wished he would. A little laughing and a sarcastic remark would have been far better than the silence.

The elevator reached the loft, and I helped him out. As I removed my coat, and put both our swords down on the table, Methos just stood where I'd left him. I kicked off my shoes, and then turned to watch him. 

Now what? My sense of smell suggested that I do something about the awful stench that was floating from the direction of my houseguest. I ran my gaze down his legs, and grimaced as I saw the small rivulets of filthy water that were running down to my clean hardwood floor. "Okay, so we'll have to get you out of those pants."

As soon as I said that, I felt heat rising to my cheeks. That did sound really bad, didn't it? I prayed that Methos wouldn't remember any of this when he was back to normal, and then grabbed his shoulders as I began to guide him towards the bathroom. "We have to get you clean. Your clothes stink to high heaven!"

It was fairly easy to remove his coat. As I lowered it to the ground, wincing at the loud sound the hidden weaponry in the lining made, I saw that the lapels and most of the left side were also wet. Damn. The heavy cloth must have hit the puddle as he swayed on his knees. A closer checking revealed that his shirt was a bit soggy, too. 

I didn't even want to think about the condition of the passenger seat of my car.

Since it was my intention to put him into the shower, anyway, I quickly undressed him to his boxers. Then I turned the water on, adjusting the temperature so that it wouldn't burn him. 

I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing, but since I saw no other option, I took off my socks and sweater, so that I wouldn't get all wet, and then I moved Methos into the small shower stall. Realizing that I'd have to remove his underwear anyway when they got wet, I yanked his boxers off before guiding him under the spray.

Reaching out for a bottle of shower gel and a wash cloth, I couldn't help pondering the situation. I'd taken care of many friends while they'd been sick before. I'd been trained to work as a medic in a war decades ago, and there was nothing new in me playing a nurse, but this bothered me more than I could say. 

Even when he was sprawled in my couch, just relaxing, and doing nothing, Methos was still full of life. His piercing gaze scanning everything and one could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, as he thought about his next sarcastic comment.

There was no trace of that Methos in the man standing next to me. 

It was somehow unnatural to have to treat him like a small child or a hurt animal. He didn't need me to fight his battles for him. Certainly he didn't need me to walk him around, or undress him, or wash him. Except that it was exactly what he needed me to do right then.

The thought of that moment inevitably brought the future to my mind. What would happen when I'd finished getting him clean? How could he eat? Drink? Use the toilet?

It made me shudder and almost drop the bottle of shower gel. Telling myself to stop borrowing trouble, I turned back to him, and then felt a stab in my conscience, as I saw that he was still standing right under the spray, the water running down his hair and face. 

"Dear God, Methos!" I cursed under my breath, and then reached out for him. "Damn, I'm so sorry!"

Pulling him from under the pounding water, I almost slipped as he sagged against me. I fumbled for a towel, and then wiped his face with it, muttering apologies. It didn't matter that he was getting me wet, too. I was really embarrassed about the way I'd just left him standing there. 

When I was certain that he was able to stand under the spray so that the water didn't get into his unblinking eyes again, I squeezed some of the scented shower gel onto the wash cloth. After re-capping the bottle, I began to wash Methos. The fight with the young headhunter hadn't obviously been all that easy after all. There were traces of dried blood on his skin, and I scrubbed them all off, glad that his body had healed the minor cuts. 

Keeping the contact as minimal as possible, I cleaned the front of his body, and then wondered what would be the best way to clean his backside. Finally I decided that it was probably best if I just turned him around, instead of trying to squeeze around him, and grabbed his shoulders. 

Methos acted like I'd hoped he would, turning around like an obedient child. Fighting against the urge to dig my fingers in his flesh and shake him to get some kind of a response, I took a better hold on the wash cloth, and began to soap his back. 

I hadn't stared at his body while washing his chest and belly, just noticing in passing the unusual limp state the Quickening had left him as I ran the soaped rag quickly across his groin, and then concentrated on his legs. It was different with his back, though. Of course I was curious of how he'd look like and with his blank stare focused at the tiles, I could take a good look at his body without any risk of getting caught staring.

The first thing that flashed through my mind was surprise. I'd always considered him a lithe man, sometimes even a bit scrawny. It was easy to make that mistake, considering the waif- like impression he gave to everyone with his baggy clothes. As I soaped the hard muscles of his back and arms, I realized that he was even more deadly opponent than I'd thought. It was definitely an advantage to look a little weak, and then unleash all that strength when your adversary was lulled into a false sense of superiority.

It was something I had to keep in mind. 

I spent a few more minutes watching him, admiring his body. There was something strangely alluring about him. His pale skin, the perfectly sculpted limbs. When I realized that I was staring, I felt a little embarrassed and continued spreading the lather.

After washing his back, I crouched so I could reach his legs and couldn't help noticing the long uneven scar that ran across his left buttock. 

The wash cloth still in my right hand, I ran my left index finger over the scarred skin. It looked like the wound had been made with a rather dull knife or maybe Methos had slid down a rocky slope, tearing his rump while doing so. The scar looked really odd on the otherwise flawless body. I had some tiny scars on my hands from the time I first practiced with the sword by the shores of Loch Shiel, but nothing major like that. I wondered if Methos even remembered how he got it. Probably not.

Realizing that the water wasn't as warm as it had been just a moment before, I quickly washed his legs, and then got back to my feet, grimacing at the soggy feeling of my jeans. I rinsed him, making sure that all the lather had washed away, and then washed the wash cloth clean. 

The first towel went around his head, making him look like an Arab with a really lopsided turban. I rubbed his body with the other one, and then guided him to the main loft area, leaving a very messy bathroom behind. I could clean up later. 

I left Methos standing next to the couch as I went to my closet to get us some clean --and dry-- clothes. I quickly changed from my wet clothes into a pair of pants and a dry T-shirt. Grabbing similar garments for my friend, I hurried back to his side. He hadn't moved one muscle, still standing in the exact spot I'd left him.

"I hope you don't mind wearing this, but it's the only clean thing I've got. A friend of mine left it here." I held up the T-shirt in front of him, hoping to get some kind of a response at the neon pink color. He didn't even blink at the really tasteless shirt.

It wasn't all that hard to dress him, and when he was fully clothed, I guided him to sit on the couch. Then I looked around, wondering what the hell I should do with him next. 

There was one thing that had gotten his interest previously, and I went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer from the fridge. After opening it, I placed the bottle on the table right in front of him. 

The temptation of cold beer didn't make miracles to happen. 

"Come on, Methos. Snap out of it!" I winced at my harsh tone, and then knelt in front of him, so I could look him straight in the eyes. "Sorry, didn't mean to sound like that. You're at my place now, and there's nothing here to threaten you. Come back to this world, please."

No reaction. 

I took his hands into mine, wanting to repeat; wake up, wake up, _wake up_ , until he got tired of my voice and stopped looking like an extra from 'The Night of the Living Dead'. At that point a sarcastic remark, or even a calculated sneer would have been more than welcome. 

"Methos…" 

What else could I say? Or do, for that matter. I'd never been a psychiatrist, and had no idea how to treat a person in such a catatonic state. I'd gotten him to the loft, made sure that he was relatively comfortable, and that was all I could really do for him.

Getting back up, I let go of his hands, wincing as they landed on the couch with a clearly audible 'thud'. I positioned his hands on his lap, and then took a step away from him. "I'll go and clean the bathroom. If you get back to yourself while I'm doing it, just wait here for me. I don't want to have a heart attack when you sneak up from behind me."

I didn't bother to wait for an answer, knowing that it was unlikely that there would be one, and just walked back to the bathroom.

All the dirty and wet clothes went straight into the hamper. I mopped the floor dry, and then spent a few minutes scrubbing the shower stall. That done, I returned to the loft and put my sword in its usual place near the couch. Not too close to the still figure sitting there, though. On impulse, I cleaned Methos' sword, and then put it on the top most shelf of the bookshelf. It would be safe there. 

Since I didn't want to sit idly, I marched to the kitchen and made myself a huge ham sandwich. I ate it standing, not wanting to go to sit close to Methos while I was eating.

After returning the kitchen to its spotless state, I sighed, and walked up to my friend. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you now?" A completely ridiculous thought of just cramming him into the closet for the night flashed through my mind, making me groan. 

There were two options --realistic options-- I could think of. I could either leave him to sleep on the couch, or I could put him in my bed. It wasn't really all that hard to make the decision. I knew I couldn't sleep if he just sat there on the couch.

"Methos? Come on, it's time to go to bed." I pulled him up, and guided him to the other side of the room. He stood in place as I pulled the covers to the side, and then sat down on the bed as I gave him a slight shove. I tugged him in and then moved my hand over his eyes, closing the eyelids. The empty staring really unnerved me. When I was convinced that he was as comfortable as I could make him, I walked to the couch to spend the night there.

I lay down, staring at the ceiling and tried to hear the sound of Methos breathing. Of course I couldn't hear it at that distance, but I couldn't help trying. The soft buzz of his Presence calmed me a little. Not enough for me to just fall to sleep, though.

Maybe Joe would find something in the records. I suspected he knew quite a lot more about the Immortals than he'd told me, and I knew that if anything like this had ever happened to any of us, he'd find out about it. Praying that my Watcher really would find an answer, and that it wouldn't be anything like the Dark Quickening, I took a better position on the couch and closed my eyes.

It was hard, but I forced my body to relax. I wouldn't accomplish anything by staying up all night, worrying about Methos. The whiskey I'd drunk earlier helped me, and after only about an hour of agonizing, I finally fell asleep.

* * *

The sound of the elevator starting its journey down to the dojo pulled me out of my light slumber. I sat up, a little disoriented, and looked around, trying to figure out why was I sleeping on the couch. Then the feeling of Methos' Presence made it all come back to me.

"Methos? Are you okay yet?"

Since there was no answer, I didn't even bother to go to him. He was safe and sound in my bed. Stretching, I stood up and picked my sword up from the floor. When the elevator started to move back up, I put the katana back down next to the couch and walked to the kitchen to make coffee. I knew who was on the elevator anyway.

"MacLeod? You in here?"

"I'm in the kitchen" I saw Joe turn slightly, and raised the spoon I was holding. "Coffee?"

He nodded. "Thanks. I need some of that now."

It was clear that he'd spent the whole night going through the records. I made the coffee a bit stronger than usual. "So, did you find anything?"

"I'm not sure. I…" Joe looked around. "Where's Methos?"

I glanced at the back of the room, seeing that the still form was just the way I'd left him last night. "In bed."

"Has he made any recovery?"

I put the coffee jar back to the cupboard and shook my head. "No. He's still out there."

Joe shuddered. "That's creepy." He walked to the couch, and after a glance at Methos he sat down. "About the records. There have been a few incidents where young Immortal loses his mind after an old one's Quickening. I told you that last night. But there have also been one or two times when a very old Immortal has had some kind of a mental overload after taking a head."

"What do you mean?" I didn't like the sound of that.

His expression was grave. "Too many memories, Mac. Too many years, Quickenings, whatever. At some point they just snap. Or lose all the interest in living."

"No." Shaking my head, I poured some coffee in two cups and then joined Joe on the couch. "For God's sake, it's _Methos_ we're talking about."

"So it is. Five thousand years, Mac." My Watcher took a sip from his cup. "Think about it. Some Immortals lose the fire after a few centuries. Can you really even imagine the length of time he has survived?"

I was about to shrug his words off, but then I remembered the fight we'd had in one of those tunnels in Paris after we'd first met. Methos had been dripping wet, weary to the bone. And he'd offered his head to me. There had been no fire left in him then, and he'd even said that himself. 

Could it be true? Had he finally had enough?

"No." I said it more firmly this time. It just wasn't possible. "He may be the oldest of us all, but he hasn't reached that position by giving up on life. Sure, we all get tired sometimes, but there's a difference between weariness and suicidal behavior. Methos is a survivor."

Joe emptied his cup, sitting there in silence for a moment. Then he nodded. "You're probably right."

At least I hoped so. I didn't want to think about what would happen if Joe was right. To get my mind off that rather appalling prospect, I asked, "What about the man? The headhunter?" 

"Now there's something really scary." My Watcher grimaced, rubbing his eyes. "We've been afraid that something like that would happen."

We? I frowned. We as the Watchers? "Something like what?"

"History repeating itself, Mac. He's just one of many Immortals who have left their homes behind to hunt others. It's the time. The same thing happened the last time. There's never been so many reported beheadings as at the end of the first millennium. People are afraid of the year 2000 and fear makes them do weird things."

That made sense. "So, did you find out who he was?"

Joe pulled a stack of paper out of his pocket and glanced at the writing there. "John Stewart. Age 27, died when he was 18. Spent his whole life in Maine, left behind a wife and two adopted daughters. He was a pediatrician."

"Did you talk with his Watcher?"

"I called her. She was in New York. Apparently Stewart was supposed to be there too, on a medical conference. His Watcher hadn't even noticed he'd left town."

I thought about what he'd told me. A young pediatrician with a family? Didn't sound like your average headhunter. Maybe he'd really gone mad, or had thought that the world would come to an end in a few months. "Did she have anything useful to tell you?"

"Only that he wasn't a violent man. Had taken only one head, when another Immortal had threatened his wife. Apparently he had a wild side, though, and he'd visited some of the more notorious bars in New York a few days ago. His Watcher couldn't really say anything more." Joe's expression told that she'd been less than enthusiastic about talking of her assignment.

"That still doesn't explain why he came after Methos. Or how he even knew who Methos is." It just didn't add up. "Someone must have told Stewart about him."

Joe browsed through the print outs and shook his head. "I have no idea who it was."

"Cassandra."

The hoarse whisper made me jump to my feet. "Methos?"

He was sitting on the bed, looking completely normal. His gaze darted from me to Joe, and then finally to the bathroom door. Carefully, Methos got out of the bed and padded across the loft, disappearing from sight. 

I looked at the closed door with my mouth open. He'd just been completely catatonic for almost ten hours, and the first thing he does after waking up is… Oh, well, maybe that _was_ a natural thing to do.

My mind was in turmoil. Cassandra? Why would she be after Methos now, after all these months? Frowning, I took a sip of the coffee. It didn't sound like the woman I knew.

"Mac?"

Joe’s soft voice startled me, and I almost dropped my cup. "What?"

My Watcher’s expression was grave. "Don’t be harsh with him. Try to see things as they are, not as they were a long time ago."

"Joe…" I shook my head. "I know what you're saying, but… We really need to talk about this. Now. You saw what he was like. I can’t just let it be."

There was no time for Joe to say anything to that. The bathroom door opened, and Methos walked back into the loft. Smelling the coffee, he headed to the kitchen and got himself a cup. After rummaging through the cabinet and the drawers for sugar and a spoon, he looked around, as if he wasn’t sure where to go next. In the end, he just leaned against the kitchen island, glaring at us. Still not saying anything.

"So, what was that all about?" I couldn't help asking. "How do you know it was Cassandra?" Noticing Joe's suffering expression, I clamped my mouth shut. So maybe it didn't come out the way that I'd meant. I smiled a bit apologetically and gestured at the chair in front of the couch. "Sit down. Please."

Methos sprawled on the chair, looking exhausted. 

Apparently Joe didn’t trust me to handle the questioning. He hurried to speak before I could open my mouth again. "I just spent the whole night with the records, trying to figure out what happened to you. There was nothing that could make real sense."

"Yeah, I heard." The old man nodded, taking a sip from his cup. "It wasn’t like I was unconscious or anything. I could still see and hear everything that happened around me." He gave me a strange little smirk.

I was determined _not_ to blush.

Joe and I waited in silence for Methos to gather his thoughts. Finally he shook his head. "She… I don't really know how to explain it so that it makes any sense."

"Try."

Now there was some of that old fire back in his eyes, as he glanced at me, looking annoyed. "She sent me a message, okay? A memory that was triggered by the Quickening." 

"She slipped you a mental mickey?" Joe sounded incredulous. "Can she really do something like that?"

I shivered, remembering that time she had me under the spell of her Voice. "I think she’d be more than capable of doing it. And willing." 

The look Methos gave me spoke volumes of what he thought about the whole subject. "I think we all know that already. I'm not exactly her favorite person in the world."

My Watcher frowned as he glanced at me, obviously wondering if I was going to push.

The last time we'd been on this subject, I had. I wasn't going to make the same mistake this time. "Okay, so what about the Quickening? Why were acting like that earlier?" What kind of a memory would make Methos act like a zombie? 

"Have you ever been buried alive, MacLeod? Or woken up in a grave, trying to claw your way out before the coffin ran out of air and you suffocated?" Methos' voice was hollow. 

Of course I had. I didn't think there was an Immortal in the world who hasn't experienced that. "Yes. So what?"

"So try experiencing that every decade or so for five thousand years. Normal shallow graves, mausoleums, heavy stone slabs over your body." He shuddered. "And then spend hours living through that again. Do you have any idea what it’s like to see and hear everything that's happening around you, but not being able to do anything, or say anything?"

I felt shivers run down my spine. Not just because of his words, but because of the tone of his voice, too. Reviving in a grave was never easy, and to relive it… Well, his question had sounded rhetoric, so I didn't bother to think of an answer. I did feel uncomfortable, though. 

Joe looked a little nauseous. It seemed that he could at least imagine how Methos was feeling, even though he had never experienced it himself. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Methos grimaced. "She wants me dead."

That wasn't exactly new, unless he meant that she really wanted him dead right now. Actually, that was probably exactly what he meant. "So she sent this guy as a messenger, that you should be ready for her?"

"No, MacLeod. She sent him to kill me. Now that he's failed, I assume others will follow."

"What?" I couldn't keep the shock out of my voice. That definitely didn't sound like the Cassandra I knew. She would come for her enemy herself. "How do you know that?"

The only answer I got was a suffering glare.

Before I could say anything, Joe put his cup on the table, and yawned. "Damn, I'm beat." He scratched the side of his face. "So, what will you do now?" The question was clearly not aimed at me.

"I'll just leave. That way she won't be able to reach me, no matter how many people she sends out to hunt me down." Methos emptied his cup and got to his feet, as if to emphasize his desire to leave as soon as possible.

I knew that he meant it. He'd disappear, and no one would ever hear about Methos, the world's oldest Immortal, again. "No. You're not going anywhere." My words came out before I could really think about them, and I was on my feet a second later.

He raised his eyebrows, the expression making him look even younger. "What?"

"You'll stay here and fight." I had no idea why I insisted on that. It was important though that he stayed and faced the trouble instead of running away. Especially since there had still been no solid proof that there really was a threat against his life. Okay, so a headhunter had challenged him. That didn't have to mean that there was some weird conspiracy behind it.

Methos looked at me like I'd just lost my mind. "Not my style, MacLeod."

"Maybe not. But I swear Methos, if you run, I'll make sure the Watchers will know who Adam Pierson really is. They will hunt you down. You know that as well as I do. They have nice, detailed records of all their workers, with photographs, I'd guess, and with that face of yours, you'll never be able to sneak in the shadows again."

Joe didn't say a word. His expression was grim, though.

"I could make sure that you won't tell a soul about me." Methos kept his voice calm, but it was clear that his quiet words were meant as a threat. 

"Go ahead." I pointed at the bookshelf. "Your sword is up there. I even cleaned it for you."

He didn't make a move towards his ivanhoe. Instead he just stood there, staring at me. 

That stare was unnerving me, but I didn't let him see it. "If you've decided not to kill me after all, would you mind letting me by, so I can make us something to eat?" I glanced at my Watcher, raising an eyebrow.

"I think you should talk about this in private." Joe tried to hide another yawn. "And I’d better get some sleep."

"We’ll come by to the bar later." I waved at him, and then continued my way to the fridge.

"I’ll see you then." The elevator started to move down again.

I opened the fridge, and selected some toppings to a sandwich. Then I started to make myself breakfast. My mind was working overtime, trying to figure out what to do next. I couldn't let myself to get drawn to solving this on the basis of my emotions again. All further decisions or accusations would have to wait till I knew what was really going on here.

Breakfast, the most important meal of the day. I poured myself some orange juice, and then carried the glass and my sandwich to the couch. 

Methos kept staring at me, clearly waiting for me to say something. When I didn't he sighed, "What are you doing?" He sounded really annoyed.

"Eating breakfast." The chewing hid the grin perfectly.

Obviously he didn’t appreciate my answer. "MacLeod!"

I looked at him, practically batting my eyelashes, and kept munching. "Mmh?" It was pretty amusing to see his jaw twitch. 

Taking in a deep breath, he moved his hands through the air. "Oh, no. Not this time. Your little scheme won't work, Mac. Ignoring everything isn't the answer here."

"I'm not trying to ignore you. I just don't want to argue with you. Running away isn't the answer either." I swallowed. "We can deal with this."

"We?" Methos' eyes flashed.

"That's right. We." 

It was meant to be the end the discussion, but of course it didn't work quite that way. My friend rolled his eyes. "You can't be serious!" When he saw my expression, he snorted, "I can take care of myself, Mac. Protecting me isn't your responsibility!"

That's where he was wrong. If he was really serious about Cassandra being behind it all, it was very much my business. And since they were both my friends, I would do anything to help to solve the situation. "I'm sure you can. But you can take care of yourself right here. Not in Nepal or some Amazonian village. Here." I saw him take a deep breath, as if to start a rant, and rushed to cut off his next logical argument before he could even start it. "You'd better move in with me. It'll be safer that way."

He looked stunned. "No way."

"Yes way." I kept my eyes on his. It was clear that he was objecting on principle. He hadn't really rejected my hospitality \--whether it was offered or not-- before. "You'll stay here with me, and that's final." 

"You're not thinking, MacLeod! What if something like this happens again? What if the next Quickening doesn't make me catatonic, but makes me…" Methos' face was contorted with anger but there was something like dread in his gaze. "What if it makes me try to hurt you? To take your head?"

I shook my head, not allowing the pleading note in his voice sway me. "It wouldn't work. I wouldn't let you take it, and I'd make sure that you wouldn't lose yours either."

"You really believe you could do anything in a situation like that?" There was a hint of mirth, and something else, something dark, in his words.

"We've sparred before, Methos. I know your skills and I think I can manage." 

He raised an eyebrow. "You think so? Like you said, we've _sparred_ together. But we've never truly fought against each other. I can take care of myself. Trust me, Mac, if I wanted your head I could have it right now."

I couldn’t hide the smile completely. After all, he hadn’t had as much practice these past few years as I’d had. He might be the master of deception and devious plans, but as a swordsman, he wasn't really all that good. I’d sparred with him often enough to know all about his strengths and weaknesses. He wouldn’t be able to surprise me. "Oh, really?"

"Really." Methos snapped. 

Arrogant ass! 

Brushing off the crumbs from the coffee table, I got to my feet. "Fine. Let’s see what you can do." I grabbed his ivanhoe from the shelf, and offered it to him. 

The old man squinted his eyes, and then accepted the sword. "Downstairs. That way there’ll be less chance on stumbling into furniture."

That was actually a good idea. I wasn’t really all that enthusiastic about redecorating. "Downstairs it is."

I called the elevator back up, tapping my foot on the floor. Methos stood a few feet behind me, looking calm as ever. If he thought his coolness would unnerve me, he was wrong.

We made the trip down in silence. Neither of us was in the mood for idle chattering. Once again we were going to go a great deal of trouble to prove a point. This time I was certain I was right, though. Methos was way too confident about his skills. I was determined to make him admit that, no matter what it took. 

At least we'd put this issue behind us now. 

Down at the dojo, I went through a few simple stretches. My body continued to follow my usual katas without needing a direct command from my mind and I spent a few minutes to get myself ready for a fight. Even though it hadn’t really damaged me, sleeping on that damn couch left me pretty stiff. It felt really good to do some warm ups.

Methos, on the other hand, had strolled to the punching bag, and was now sliding his hands up and down the smooth leather. His sword was on the bench by the wall, almost like he'd forgotten the whole reason for our trip downstairs.

I finished my little exercise and then walked in the middle of the room. When Methos didn't seem to notice I was ready, I cleared my throat. 

Startled hazel eyes focused on me. The old man smiled, and then grabbed his sword, heading towards me. "I should have known you'd make this formal." 

He'd thought I'd just jump at him? Even with his back turned at me? I realized he was just teasing, and flashed him a grin. "Let's get this over with."

"All right." He took a clumsy and not all that effective defensive pose. The challenging look in his eyes dared me to attack first. The way he stood there was clearly meant to make me believe he wasn't all that enthusiastic on fighting. His body language all but screaming his inexperience in fights like this. He even held his sword like it was almost too heavy for him.

I wasn't fooled by his appearance. Feeling a little embarrassed now for staring at him in the shower, I was still happy I'd gotten a good look on that deceivingly slight body of his. "You can drop the act, Methos. I know you're not all that weak."

"Oh, I completely forgot your little survey in the shower." Methos' voice was suggestive. He wiggled his hips a little before asking, "Did you like what you saw?"

Opening my mouth to answer him, I was totally unprepared for the attack. I raised my blade instinctively, and was able to parry his strike. 

Then I had to lunge to safety as my opponent twirled around, trying to slice my chest open. "Damn it!" I couldn't help from making the exclamation. He'd definitely surprised me there.

A soft chuckle floated towards me. "Yes?"

I looked up to see Methos standing there, watching me scramble up to my feet. "Nothing." 

He waited for me to get up, and then attacked again. I was amazed of Methos' speed and skill with the blade. He was really a master of deception, now showing sides of him that he'd managed to hide completely from me. Oh, there had been glimpses of this determined swordsman before, but whenever he’d let them show, I'd been too busy every time to really pay attention to his real fighting style.

His technique was a strange combination of perfect discipline over his actions, and fierce desperation. The latter was familiar, I'd seen it when we'd sparred before, but the control was definitely new. It was clear that this man wasn't an amateur. It suddenly hit me that all the times I'd won him in a fight might’ve had very little to do with my skill.

There was no more time to analyze him, for the pace of our fight was getting quicker, more intense. Both of us striking, parrying and then striking again, our blades slicing little cuts on arms or legs, but nothing serious. We were almost equal in skill and stamina, but both had our stronger points that would make a difference. I had more physical strength than he did, but Methos had millennia of experience on me.

It was probably one of the most exhilarating fights I'd ever had. There was no reason to hold back. I wasn't in any real danger from him, but neither was he from me. It was possible for me to just concentrate on the fight, not on trying to teach him anything about combat technique. After all, he wasn't my student. I could just let go and try to beat him.

It suddenly hit me that it was the first time we sparred after I’d learned about his past. We hadn’t talked about it, actually I hadn’t even thought about the whole thing before. And now I was fighting with him again, not even concerned of the outcome. It was just a spar. 

I trusted him not to take my head, no matter how frenzied our mock duel would get. 

We spent long minutes assessing each other and trying to find the weaknesses we both had. Every time I spun around, he was there to slash me. Then I'd get the chance to try to make him lose his balance when he once again overextended his thrust. There were a few close calls, but since we were so perfectly matched, neither of us could end the fight by using only skill.

Now it was clear that the one who had more stamina would win this fight. It made us both move more slowly, to reserve energy. Our moves became more defined, more purposeful. 

It would have been so easy to lower my blade and surrender, but I was determined to see this whole thing through. Apparently Methos thought along those lines, too. After all, he had already made his point, that he couldn't be defeated as easily as I'd thought. There had to be more to this.

Dancing a few feet away from me, my opponent squinted his eyes, as if calculating his next move. Then he took a few quick steps to the left, and attacked me again, forcing me to respond with strength rather than skill. The bright flashes of steel flickered between us, and when Methos jumped even closer to me, there was no way I could move my sword fast enough to keep it from hitting him.

My blade slid deep into his side, drawing out a pained grunt from him. He swayed a little, but then regained his balance, standing there in front of me, as if waiting for what would happen next. As far as I was concerned, the fight was over.

It was clear that Methos didn’t think so. His expression was as determined as ever. 

Breathing hard, I stared at his eyes. "Methos, stop this." My hands were slippery with his blood, and I wanted to let go of the hilt of my sword. "Stop this right now!"

His gaze didn't waver, even though he had to be in great pain. Then he surged even closer to me, driving the blade of my katana deeper into his side. The movement almost cut him open. As I heard an agonized gasp, I let go of my sword. 

And got the blade of his ivanhoe to my neck.

"You… Play… Nice…" Methos gasped, his pupils dilating. The hands that held the sword firmly on the juncture of my neck and shoulder didn't shake though. "I don't. Remember…That." His eyes started to glaze over. "There… Can… Be…"

I felt numb as his hands jerked to the right and then let his sword fall on the floor. It was clear that he did that on purpose, showing that it was indeed his decision to let me live. "Understand?" There was still a spark of life in his eyes as he slid on top of his weapon. Then his Quickening faded away.

"Damn you, Methos," I whispered, as I crouched next to him. Yanking the katana out of his side, I swallowed hard. His actions had truly showed me the difference in us. Using the move I'd always thought of as the last, desperate attempt to win just to prove a point, he'd really shown how ruthless he was. He wouldn’t let anything stand between him and whatever his goal was. "I do. I do understand."

I understood even more than he had intended to teach me. He hadn't just shown that he had the skill to defeat me. To take my head. He also showed me that he trusted me with his life.

It would have been so easy to swing my sword and collect the most powerful Quickening in the world. With his life energy one would be virtually invincible. Taking Methos' head would be a temptation to almost anyone, especially when it was practically offered on a silver platter.

No. I wasn't tempted. Not for a second. Even though he was a pain in the arse most of the time, he was my friend. I would have cut my own head off before even considering taking his. But I wasn't swayed either. 

This whole thing had started long before that day. I was determined to see the end of it.

A few minutes later I felt the tell- tale pressure at the back of my head, and then watched Methos convulse as he drew air into his lungs. He reached out for his sword before he was even fully conscious, and I let him do that without interfering. I just stepped back a little, so that he wouldn't be able to accidentally behead me. 

Clear hazel gaze scanned the room, and then focused on me. "Seems to me we're both still in one piece." He didn't even sound surprised.

I nodded at him, and then reached out my hand. He grabbed it, and allowed me to pull him up. "Aye. You're still here. And you'll _stay_ here."

Methos squinted his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it didn't work. All you managed to do was to destroy a perfectly good T- shirt."

"For Gods' sake, Highlander!" He sounded disgusted. "What can I do to get it through your thick skull that it's best for everyone if I just leave?"

"Nothing." I glared at him, wanting him to understand that I really meant that. Yes, he had the right to decide for his own life, but for once I wasn't going to listen to his excuses. Running away wasn't living. If he left now, he'd spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, starting at every loud noise. "So you can stop trying right now." 

Not waiting for his reply, I headed to the elevator.

* * *

If I’d thought everything was settled, I’d been dead wrong.

Methos kept glowering at me as I washed the coffee pot, and I could hear him mutter some very unflattering descriptions of meddling Scots from under his breath as I headed towards shower. He finished with that when I ushered him to the bathroom, but even after cleaning himself from the blood, he still threw dark glances at me. It didn’t really bother me. After all, I was used to that.

When he realized that nothing he said could make me change my mind, the old man tried sulking for a while. That didn’t work either. It just gave me a chance to make us lunch in peace. Fortunately he continued his sulking, so we could also _eat_ in peace.

Remembering the awful stench his clothes had made the previous evening, I put everything from the hamper into the washing machine, and then pulled my coat on, herding Methos out of the loft before locking the door behind me.

After dropping my car at the nearest car-wash, we got a cab and headed to Methos'. My friend tried to squirm out of it again, complaining about having to pay a rent for a place he didn't use. 

I just raised an eyebrow, reminding him that he'd just gotten the place like a week ago. He could easily get rid of the place. For a man who complained about cheap motels all the time, he sure seemed to be attached to them. Or maybe he just hated moving even more than he must have hated those rat traps. 

When we got to his apartment, I shook my head at the piles of cardboard boxes that were literally everywhere. He hadn't even unpacked any of his books yet. I took that as a sign that he wasn’t all that attached to his new home, and even mentioned that to him. He objected, of course.

His objections weren't all that convincing. I didn't ask, but I couldn't help wondering what had gotten into him. Methos had never declined the offer to have a place he could live in without paying the rent. Why the change of heart now? Could he possible be genuinely afraid of Cassandra?

Not even the beer I bought Methos at Joe's made him find his good humor. I exchanged a few words with my Watcher, explaining him my decision to keep my friend where I could keep an eye on him. Joe didn't even try to hide his amusement at Methos' sullen expression. He just wished me luck, saying that I'd need it.

I had the feeling that he was absolutely right with that.

Methos had the courtesy to keep relatively quiet while we were in the bar, but as soon as we were on our way back to the loft, he started nagging again.

The argument lasted for the rest of the day, but finally he relented. I wasn't all that sure what had made him change his mind. Maybe he was tired of listening to the sound of his own voice. Or maybe he understood that this was really the best way to handle it all. Somehow I doubt it was the latter, though.

Since it was Sunday, Methos couldn't make the call to get his stuff transported to the loft. He'd grabbed most of his notes, and some clean clothes from his apartment, though, so he'd manage through the next few workdays. The evening was relatively peaceful, once he shut his mouth and buried his nose in a book. That reminded me that I had classes to teach the next day, too, and we spent the rest of the day preparing ourselves to academic life.

* * *

When the annoying beeping of my alarm clock woke me up Monday morning, the first thought that came to my mind was to call in sick. The weekend had been hectic, and I hadn't got enough sleep. 

After my disastrous relationship with Anne, I'd made sure no one would ever have a reason to suspect me about the lack of medical records. It wasn't all that hard to do it. Some of my 'old' medical files had been sent to the local hospital from Paris, and every once in a while I had a flu or something, and didn't show up at work for a day or two. 

Maybe it was time for the autumn flu. After all, I wouldn't be the only teacher who got it.

Then I remembered that it was Methos' first day at the university. That was definitely an event I didn't want to miss. So I clambered out of the bed, and headed to the bathroom. At least Methos had woken to the sound of my alarm clock, and I didn’t have to start the morning by dragging him up from the couch.

First a shower, then a quick breakfast. My friend did it another way around, still drinking coffee in his boxers and a T-shirt when I was ready to go. Since he hadn’t gotten himself a new car yet, we'd agreed we might as well share a cab that morning, and for a moment I had serious suspicions that he was deliberately trying to make us be late. He managed to finish his morning ablutions in record time, though. 

I raised my eyebrow as I saw his attire. Black pants, a green sweater. Looking just like a teacher. Even more so with the gold rimmed glasses perched on his nose. It was a strange, but actually quite pleasant sight. "Professor Pierson?" 

"MacLeod." He nodded, a distant look in his eyes, as if he was concentrating on this new aspect of his Pierson-identity. "We should get going." 

"Yes, sir." I saluted him, and then marched out the door.

I could have sworn I saw a ghost of a smile on his lips as he climbed inside the cab, but then his face became a calm mask again. We talked about work during the short drive, and then walked to the main building of the maze-like university side by side.

The Dean introduced our newest faculty member to all the other professors, and for the first time in days I saw another emotion than annoyance on Methos’ expressive face. He seemed to be genuinely interested in his new colleagues and work. In just a few minutes he was chatting with the other language experts.

When it was time to get to work, I couldn’t resist the urge to give him a little friendly advice. I walked to where he was standing and patted his shoulder, smiling at him. "Be nice to the students. It'll be bad for your reputation if you try to bite their heads off on your first day."

Methos didn't even bother to answer. He just glared at me, adjusted his glasses, and then headed to the classroom.

I shook my head, feeling sorry for all those kids who had chosen to major in linguistics.

* * *

Even though I’d witnessed how rumors started to fly in universities all around the world, it never stopped amazing me how detailed most of the gossip was. 

The first week of Adam Pierson’s life as a faculty member was pretty hilarious. Most of the female professors seemed to be smitten with him, and the number of new students needing him to tutor them was astonishing. Either there was something really appealing in the new teacher, or then professor Wilding’s decision to retire four months earlier than originally planned had been a good one.

All the attention didn’t seem to bother Methos, but he didn’t revel in it either. 

As the days went by, he seemed to forgive me for forcing him to do the honorable thing and face his enemies, and we got back in our old routine. I actually enjoyed his company, the quiet evenings spent at the loft, or at Joe’s. He didn’t talk about leaving anymore, even though I was sure the thought hadn’t left his mind yet.

We didn't have all that many opportunities to talk about it, though. Teaching a bunch of adolescents isn't exactly the easiest job in the world, even though it was enjoyable at times, and we were both tired on evenings. We talked mostly about work related subjects, even at Joe's.

My Watcher hadn’t found out anything new about Cassandra’s whereabouts, and there had been no other challenges after that dreadful night. But there were other reports coming from all around the world of large amount of beheadings and other disturbing things. It seemed some of the Immortals were causing trouble in a very mortal way, ending up in the morgue after an apparent suicide, or in a jail after various crimes. Apparently Joe had been right. Turning points of history made people nervous.

But life was peaceful in Seacouver. More peaceful than usually, and even though I couldn’t drive the nagging feeling of doom out of my mind, nothing bad happened.

* * *

I really thought I was getting paranoid.

No matter how many times I’d told myself that everything was all right, I got really nervous every time my friend was out of sight, or the range where I could feel his Presence.

It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t help myself. It had been almost three weeks since Methos had fought with that young hunter, and usually I would have relaxed by then. Not this time. So wherever we were, I was always mindful of Methos’ whereabouts.

Like that Friday afternoon. The final class had ended about half an hour ago, and I was getting a little anxious. Methos should have been in the lounge by then. But instead of getting ready to get home, he was still somewhere in the large building. Unarmed. Well, without his sword, anyway. Even though he'd left his coat in his locker as we all did, he probably had a knife or two hidden under his sweater. 

Still, it wasn't the same as having one's sword. I had the urge to grab my stuff and go to get him. The only thing that kept me from hurrying to the west wing was that he'd just accuse me of being a mother hen if I went after him.

One of my colleagues --from History department, I think-- walked to me. I'd seen her look at me before, and she always had a smile on her face as she walked by. "MacLeod."

Damn, what was her name again? I was sure it started with L. But I wasn't sure if it was… "Laurel, don't tell me you're working overtime again?"

The widening smile made me almost sigh with relief.

"You know, a teacher's work is never done." Laurel raised her brief case. "But no, I didn't plan on staying here for the whole evening."

Neither did I. Where the hell was Methos anyway? I nodded at her absentmindedly, wondering if I should risk being nagged at and just go to find him. 

My colleague didn't seem to notice that my attention was elsewhere, "I was just wondering if you'd like to join me for a drink, or maybe even a dinner. After all, it's Friday evening, and even teachers are allowed to relax."

I blinked. She was asking me out? Yes, of course she was. What was I thinking? "Oh, look, Laurel, I'd love to, but I have something else I must take care of today." You could say that again. "Can I take a rain check?"

She nodded. "Sure." With that she went to grab her coat. 

Waving my hand at her, I had to force myself not to check the time again. The corner of Laurel's mouth quirked up in a brief smile, and then she walked out. 

Yes, it would have been lovely to spend the evening with someone like her, but I knew from the experience that I would just worry all evening if I left Methos alone at the loft. And I couldn't bring a date home now that I wasn't living alone anymore. 

Funny, how I didn't really mind the fact that my social life was almost nonexistent. I guess I really did need some peace and quiet in my life. As strange as it may sound, living with my friend qualified as that. Well, would have, if there hadn't been the threat for his life lurking over us.

My eyes darted to the clock. I'd been waiting for almost forty minutes. 

Just when I had myself convinced that I really should go and find him, I felt the familiar tension at the back of my skull. A moment later Methos stormed in the faculty lounge, looking like a thundercloud. 

"Adam? What's wrong?"

He shook his head, disgusted. "It's amazing what some people will do to pass an exam. One of my students just tried to cheat by copying his friend's answers." He snorted. "Idiot. I've never seen such a pathetic attempt to cheat in my life!"

I had to smile at that. Obviously he was more annoyed at the poor performance of the cheater, than the fact that the student had tried to cheat. 

"The poor schmuck didn't even choose someone who actually knew all the right answers. He just picked the girl next to him." Methos sounded outraged, and my smile turned into chuckles.

The offended look on my friend's face just made me laugh harder.

After apologizing for my unprofessional way to react to something that wasn't really a laughing matter, I gathered all my stuff together, and then followed Methos out. Since he was supposed to be a young teacher, with a beginner's pay, he hadn't been able to buy himself a decent car. Instead of settling into 'something with wheels', he just used me as a chauffeur on the way to work. I didn't mind him tagging along, as long as he wasn't in a bad mood.

His moodiness passed quickly, as I'd thought it would. After all, it _was_ Friday, and knowing my friend, he'd spend most of the next day lying on that makeshift bed of his, reading, and munching all things unhealthy.

That reminded me of the fact that in order for him --and me-- to have something to eat, we'd need to go shopping. When we got to the grocery store a few miles from home, I pulled over at the parking lot. "We need some things for the weekend. You're eating me out of the house at this rate." 

"Really?" He sounded intrigued. "You going to do something about it?"

It was clear he thought I was getting tired of his presence. Maybe he even expected me to ask him to leave. No such luck. I had to hide my grin, as I answered, "Yep. I'm gonna make you carry the bags this time. And you can buy your own beer."

The only answer I got was a glower. 

The store was full of people, but I knew there would be even more on Saturday. So I steeled myself and went to get a shopping cart. If memory served well, the fridge was almost empty, and I was low on shampoo, too. 

Methos trailed after me, making comments of most of the things I loaded in the cart. I didn't really pay all that much attention to him. After all, I'd gotten used to his extremely annoying habit on commenting everything. 

As I stopped on the frozen food section, I once again began to wonder if I'd overreacted by demanding him to stay at my place. After all, there had been no trace of other Immortals coming for his head. Maybe Cassandra had backed off, or maybe the whole reason for sending that message was just to keep Methos on his toes. 

Besides, my friend was perfectly capable of defending himself. He wasn't helpless. My behavior was really starting to move towards paranoia, and I though it was time to let go. Everything was all right.

I selected a few items from the freezer, and then moved to find my elusive friend. It was probable that he was somewhere in the vicinity of his favorite drink, and I smiled at myself as I finally reached him on the isle where all the beer was. 

"What are we having for dinner?" Methos dumped the armload of bottles he'd been carrying into the cart and then looked around us.

He had been whining about the food lately, so I just asked, "What would you like?"

A smile spread on his lips. "Lasagna!"

So lasagna it was. I steered the shopping cart to the meat counter, and sent him to get some milk and a French bread. I had to wait a few minutes before the clerk called my number, and I spent that time thinking about our living arrangements. I'd talk about it with Methos that evening. He would agree with me that there was no real reason for him to live at my place anymore. 

He'd probably want to strangle me for having let his flat go, though.

In a way I felt a little sad about him leaving. Even with his bad habits, he wasn't all that bad to live with. And he did keep me company, that was undeniable. But it had been almost a month since he'd taken the Quickening, and nothing had happened after that. He'd been nagging about our living arrangements more or less constantly, and I must admit that my couch wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to sleep in. It was time for me to let go of my foolish notion of keeping him safe somehow. 

I'd have to think about it some more, and then talk about it with Methos.

We spent a little over thirty minutes selecting the groceries, and then pushed the cart to the lineup. I paid for the items, and then marched to pack them in three huge plastic bags. 

"Do we need another bag for all this?" Methos gestured at his purchases. 

I eyed at the six-pack of beer and two magazines, grinning at his stinginess. "Nah. I think we'll manage with these three." After proving my words right, I handed the heaviest bag to him, and then grabbed the other two. "Let's get going."

"Lead the way." 

I headed towards the exit, surprised of how tired I suddenly felt. It was really good that it was Friday. I could have some time to relax the next day. Even though teaching isn't all that hard as running a dojo is, it's not a child's play either. Not to mention the fact that sitting behind a desk most of the day makes one's muscles all stiff. It was good to have two days to get back in shape.

The waves of a Presence flooded over me so unexpectedly, I almost dropped my bags. I stopped walking, and scanned the area around me. 

Methos stumbled against me, having not anticipated me to just freeze. He muffled a curse and then moved to my side, also trying to locate the other Immortal.

My eyes met with cold green ones, the look on the stranger's face making shivers run down my spine. I had never seen him before, but he looked at me with pure hatred. Then he shifted his glance to Methos, and I could see the expression harden even more. His outer appearance wasn’t anything like Stewart’s, but the crazed look in his eyes was identical. 

It hadn’t been paranoia after all. One mad hunter coming after Methos could have been coincidence. Two in such a short period of time were a pattern, and there had to be a reason behind it. 

There was no warning, no challenge or other formalities this time. The man standing about fifty feet from us was already reaching for his sword. 

In a store full of people.

" _Run_!" 

I didn't even think of arguing with Methos. We both scurried towards the closest exit. The annoyed exclamations from behind us told me that the man was following us, probably just shoving everyone out of his way, but thank God there were no screams. At least he wasn't using his blade.

We reached my car and I just threw my bags on the backseat and then started the engines. My friend dove to the passenger seat, and then we were on our way. 

I kept glancing at the rearview mirror, but didn't see anyone following. The sound of my unnaturally quick heartbeat was still loud in my ears. The whole situation was like from a nightmare. A crazed Immortal coming after us in the mall? Dear God, what would have happened if Methos had been there alone, and the man had caught him? There was no way innocent bystanders wouldn't have got hurt.

"Are you all right?" The unnatural silence made me ask that, even though I knew that physically he was fine. It wasn’t the physical side that worried me. 

Methos shrugged, fidgeting a little. "I’m okay."

He didn’t sound all that stunned, as if he’d been waiting for something like this to happen. "You don't seem to be surprised." A tentative remark that could be interpreted as a question.

"I'm not. I know Cassandra. If she starts something, she'll see it through even if it destroys her." The look in Methos' eyes was cold. "I should know. After all, I taught her that a long time ago."

I ignored his last words. The past was past and that was it. If he thought I'd back off now, he was wrong. I wasn't even considering letting Methos leave now. "Then we'll just have to be extra careful from now on."

The old man sighed heavily, but didn't say anything.

When we got to the loft, I unpacked the bags, and then phoned Joe. He didn't sound all that surprised either, when I told him about the latest attack.

"I'll try to find out who he is." Joe's voice was hushed. "What did the guy look like?"

Even though I hadn't seen him for more than a few seconds, the man's features were clear in my mind. "Curly black hair. Mustache and a goatee. Large green eyes. Seemed to be in his thirties." That only meant he'd been in his thirties when he'd died, but for some reason I had this feeling that he couldn't be all that old when talking about his Immortal age either. I told that to Joe, who made an agreeing sound. 

My Watcher was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "How's Methos taking it?"

I had no idea how to answer that. The old man was standing a few meters form me, and I didn't feel all that comfortable to start analyzing him. "I don't know. He seems pretty cool about it, but you know how appearances can be deceiving." My words gained me a questioning look from Methos, as well as an approving murmur from Joe. Apparently he thought I was learning.

After telling him he could call any time if he found out something significant, I hung up. 

Feeling suddenly famished, I went to the kitchen, and started making the lasagna. Methos joined me after a few minutes, and without saying anything, he started to chop mushrooms. I saw him turn to me a few times, as if he was going to say something, but every time he seemed to change his mind. So we just worked in silence, both lost in thoughts.

We ate, making some small talk, and then Methos hid downstairs to 'exercise', as I washed the dishes. When the elevator went down, I silently opened the door which lead to the stairs down to the dojo. Just in case I was needed downstairs. Even if I couldn't feel a Presence from that distance, I would hear the sound of yells, or a fight.

Neither of us said anything, but I was definitely relieved when Methos came back upstairs and settled on the couch.

I spent most of the evening making phone calls, warning my friends all around the country to stay away from Cassandra. Fortunately I reached most of my friends, and the rest were apparently traveling. I didn't bother to contact anyone abroad. Cassandra was probably concentrating on Immortals who lived on this continent.

When I finally went to bed, it was way past midnight. At least we could sleep late the next day. 

* * *

We didn't see the hunter again. It didn't mean Methos and I could relax, though. 

Since it was Saturday, I knew Joe's would be full. That was the main reason we didn't go to our favorite little bar that weekend. It was usually safe to be in the middle of the crowd, but not this time. If that young Immortal came after us, he'd have probably challenged Methos right there in the middle of the bar. A crowd would just have hindered our retreat.

I called my Watcher that evening though, only to hear that he hadn't had any time to look into the records yet. When I called him on Sunday, he sounded annoyed, telling me that he'd call me as soon as he found out something about the hunter. 

Apparently goatees and mustaches were a trend among youngsters, and it wasn't all that easy to find the man.

Methos and I spent most of the day sparring. We'd done some exercising before, but not anything as vigorous as then. I wanted to be ready for anything, and so did he. It was much like that mock duel we'd had the day I told him to stay with me, except that when it was clear that one of us had won, we moved a little apart and then started over. There was no need for bloodshed this time.

Sparring together with the old man made me feel good. I even enjoyed losing. Every time I was on my knees in front of him, feeling his blade on my neck, I could sigh with relief. If he really had to fight one of those hunters, he'd be able to handle the situation. Well, at least he'd be able to defend himself. I wasn't all that sure he'd be happy to handle the situation by taking another 'message' in a Quickening.

Better that than to lose his head, though.

I did call Joe again that evening. Methos warned me against it, reminding me that working both as a Watcher and as a bartender made Joe's life hectic enough without me making things worse. He'd keep his word; as soon as he had something for us, he'd let me know. I should have listened to him. My Watcher had one hell of a temper, and when he lost it, you didn't want to be anywhere near him.

Fortunately he did accept my apology when I offered it to him. He probably knew that I was just worried for my friend and didn't work overtime to annoy him.

The weekend seemed to fly by. Joe's was closed on Monday, as always, so at least my Watcher had time to find out the identity of the hunter. I didn't exactly worry about the situation, but I was conscious about the matter all the time.

Whatever Methos thought about it, he kept it to himself. It was better that way. He'd tried to start a conversation about him leaving Seacouver a few times during the weekend, but I'd ignored him every time. Why couldn't he accept the fact that I didn't want him to leave? More precisely, why couldn't he face the fact that I wanted his company? 

I had no idea. I wasn't all that sure he had either.

The call I'd been waiting for came finally on Tuesday afternoon. I'd just dismissed the class, and was cleaning my locker, as my cellular rang. It was relieving to hear Joe's voice. There was no sound of urgency there, and I could wait for Methos to finish his class instead of going to his classroom and dragging him away to safer location with me.

We drove to Joe's in silence. It was relatively early, but there were already a few regular customers inside. All of them seemed to be content on sitting on their tables though, nursing various drinks, so we could talk at the counter.

"Mac. Adam." My Watcher greeted us with a tight smile. 

My gaze went straight to the stack of papers in front of him. There was the familiar logo on the top most paper, and I knew there would finally be some answers.

Joe opened the folder. "Is this the guy?"

The man in the picture had longer hair than he'd had a few days earlier, and no facial hair, but he was definitely the same person who had stalked us in the mall. "Yeah. That's him all right. Who is he?"

"The correct form would be, who _was_ he. Ben Holsky. Forty years old, from L.A. Was beheaded last night a few blocks from the hotel he'd been staying at. Apparently it was because of an old rivalry, and had nothing to do with Cassandra." My Watcher put away the file. "Seems to me you got lucky."

"Yeah." You could say that. 

Methos didn't touch the glass Joe placed in front of him. He just kept staring at the distance. Then he shrugged. "So nothing's changed. He failed. Cassandra will send someone else to kill me, and when they fail, she'll send another, and another and another, until one of them succeeds in taking my head." He turned to me, his expression grave. "You have to admit that the best thing for me to do is to disappear."

Back to square one. "I don't have to do anything like that. Yes, she's sent two youngsters to get you, but soon she'll realize you're staying with me, and she'll come for you herself. I know I can talk some sense to her then."

"No." His voice was freezing. "She won't listen to reason. Not from anyone. Not even you, if you continue insisting on living with me."

"Too bad. I'm not backing off, and you're not leaving." I didn't want to hear another word about it! No matter what he said, I was convinced he was wrong this time. 

To my amazement, Methos shut up, and concentrated on his drink. Joe looked at me with a disapproving frown on his face, but I ignored him.

I was _not_ going to let Methos leave. No matter what, he was a friend, and I had lost too many friends already. Fear would take him away from me just as permanently as a sharp blade would.

After one more drink, we headed home. Methos hadn't said another word about leaving, and I was really glad he'd finally accepted the fact that staying was the best decision.

* * *

Knowing that the hunter was dead made the next day a lot more relaxed. I didn't have to be on the edge all the time. The knowledge that Methos wasn't planning on leaving added to that, also. 

My students seemed to sense the fact that I was more relaxed than for days, and I honestly think they might have even spent more time to study that day than to gossip about my nerves. Oh, they probably thought I hadn't heard them whisper about it. They thought wrong. It's a wonder how kids at school --no matter how old the kids were, or what kind of a school it was-- always thought their teachers were deaf and dumb.

After our classes ended, Methos went to get his mail while I headed straight home. It wasn't likely that there'd be another Immortal after my friend already. I doubted Cassandra even knew the hunter was dead yet. 

I'd just finished putting the clothes I'd washed to dry, as I felt someone approaching. Grabbing my katana was an instinct by now, but I was pretty sure it was Methos. I was right. The old man smiled at me as I lowered my weapon and continued cleaning. 

While I was scrubbing the counter on the kitchen island, Methos sprawled on the couch and pulled a big traveling book out of his bag. I got a glimpse of a nice picture of a landscape somewhere in Spain as I walked by him to get a mop from the closet. Beautiful. 

Maybe after the New Year he'd decide that 'Andalucia was nice this time of year'. If he did, I'd have to agree with him. 

But for now, he settled to watch the photos in the book, and I settled to mop the floor. For some reason there seemed to be crumbs all over the place these days. Methos might be the oldest, and according to many, wisest of us all, but frankly, he was also the biggest slob I knew.

When I decided I'd done enough cleaning for now, I put all the equipment back to their places, and then walked to the armchair. It was good to just sit there.

Methos had been staring at a certain page for long minutes now, and I wondered if he was looking at some picture of a place he'd once lived in. Curiosity won, and I lifted myself up to see the photo. Yes, very nice. A long shot of a house in front of a hillside. A few white horses grazing on the lawn. It was almost idyllic. I shifted my gaze to scrutinize his face, and couldn't help smiling at the longing in his eyes. 

"What are you thinking of?" Had to be some pretty fond memories, considering his expression. I'd seen him look like that just once or twice. No cynicism or irony, just contentment.

Methos blinked, and then focused his gaze on me. There was a flicker of something --maybe pain, or maybe regret-- in his eyes, but then it was gone as he answered, "Oh, nothing really. The years I spent in that area you now call Spain with my brothers. It's strange. Even though it was a long time ago, I sometimes find myself thinking about all that we shared. I still miss those days." His voice was dreamy. Then he snorted, adding, "Well, not Caspian. But the rest of it, yes."

For a second I couldn't even understand what he'd just said. Then I managed to squeeze a little smile on my lips. "Liar!"

"Liar?" There was genuine puzzlement on his face, that slid away as a grin took its place. "Gods, Mac. Don't tell me it surprises you! How could I _not_ miss all that power? The freedom we had." Laying the book down on the couch, he stretched.

I didn't want to go there. Not now. Definitely not now. But I couldn't help saying, "Obviously you don't miss it enough. I know you've changed."

He shrugged. "Yes, well I'm afraid that Death on a Volvo just doesn't have the same impact on people. The world has changed too much for that kind of terror to be real anymore. But like I told you, when I rode with my brothers, I ruled the world. It was quite exciting. And sometimes I _do_ miss it."

"You were lying. You just wanted me to back off." My voice trembled a little. Maybe this was just some twisted joke. And it was not funny.

"No, MacLeod." Methos smiled. "Everything I said was true. It happened just the way I told you, and yes, I enjoyed it. Very much indeed."

I stared at him, feeling nauseous. How could he _smile_ while saying such terrible things? He had to be lying. "No. I'm not buying it, Methos." Not this time. "If you enjoyed it so much, then why did you walk away from Kronos and the others in the first place?"

Methos cocked his head. "I got bored." The smile on his lips just widened.

Bored? My hands were shaking. "But… You wouldn't…"

"Wouldn't I?" Amused as it was, his voice cut into me like a dagger. "Well, not right now, I wouldn't. But after a century or two of being a nobody, who knows? I might get bored of that, too."

It was just a reflex. "Get…" The growl died in my throat, but he'd already understood what I wanted to say.

" 'Get out'? 'Get the hell away from me'? I wish you'd make up your mind already. First you blackmail me to stay, now you want me to leave. I'm too old for these mood swings, MacLeod." His words were mocking, as was his voice.

I wanted to tell him to go to hell. To smash his face with my fist, or even grab my sword and silence him for good. 

Then I realized that it was exactly what he wanted. For me to throw him out. God, that devious bastard! I knew he was deliberately trying to irritate me, but he was too good with pushing my buttons for me to not react. 

But at least now, with the insight to his actions, I could decide how exactly to react. It was my decision. I could continue the conversation, and get even more manipulated. Or I could walk away and try to cool down. 

Knowing that if I just left, he wouldn't be at the loft when I returned, I glared at him and said curtly, "Stay here." I grabbed my coat and headed to the door. "I'll be at Joe's if someone asks for me." Without bothering to look back, I walked out to the chilly autumn evening.

I was still fuming with anger when I parked the car, and then headed straight to Joe's. 

There weren't all that many patrons there at that hour. Still I didn't go to sit on a free table. My Watcher was standing behind the counter, and I walked there. As soon as Joe saw me, he grabbed a bottle of Glenmorangie and poured me a drink. Just what I needed. 

I took a few small sips, enjoying the burn as always. The tension I'd felt since I left home started to dissipate slowly. I let myself relax as I leaned against the counter, staring at the glass as if all the answers and solutions were in there. They weren't. Of that I was sure.

"Problems?"

No wonder he'd become a Watcher. "Yeah. Sort of. Nothing new, though."

"Mm hmm," Joe hummed knowingly, polishing a perfectly shining glass with a white kitchen towel. "Anything I could help you with?"

I snorted. "I don't think so."

After throwing a knowing look at me, my Watcher put down the glass and took another one, continuing to polish it in silence. He was like a textbook example of a perfect bartender. Waiting for me to tell him all my worries, still not being nosy or pushy. 

Downing the rest of the scotch with one gulp, I sighed. "Joe, he's driving me crazy."

"Of course he is." Joe's voice was amused. "You know what he's like. Always trying to get under your skin. And you let him. I don't think he'd needle you half as much he does, if you didn't encourage him."

"Encourage him? I don't encourage him!" Realizing that my offended exclamation was exactly what he meant, I swore. 

He nodded. "That's just it."

"But _why_? Damn it, Joe, he just tried to use his past as a reason to get thrown out of my place! You know as well as I do that he's hurting himself that way. Why can't he say what he means, without all these damn games?"

Joe was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed, "Mac. If he told you to let him go and handle this on his own, so you won't get hurt, what would you do?"

I didn't even think before answering. "I couldn't let him go! He's my friend, and he's…" My words trailed into silence. 

His knowing snort didn’t even annoy me. My God, was I really that naive? I was shocked. How could I be so _dense_? I’d always known that Methos' self proclaimed opportunism was at least partly a smokescreen, but somewhere deep down inside I’d always seen him like he so obviously wanted me to. 

Maybe I should've had that particular revelation a long time ago, but he’d always managed to confuse me. The difference between Adam Pierson in Paris during the whole Kalas episode, and that Methos who had come to warn me about Kristen had been shocking. That should have taught me a lesson. But then again the change there had been so clear. I’d still thought of him as a harmless grad student when he’d first appeared at the dojo, but when his whole demeanor had changed as he raised my own sword on my throat, I'd known that the man in front of me was really the one who had survived five thousand years.

"So he wants me to stay out of the way." 

"I’d say that’s a fairly good guess." Joe nodded. He thought for a moment before adding, "It would seem that he's trying to protect you again."

"You mean he's trying to protect himself again," I snorted. There was a hint of doubt in my mind, though.

"You'd be surprised. He may seem a like he doesn’t give a damn, but he does. Why do you think he's still here?"

I had no idea. We all knew that my threats of exposing him to the Watchers unless he stayed had been just threats. Didn't we? But if he knew that, why indeed was he still there?

Joe stared at me until I shook my head helplessly, and then continued quietly, "I’m not a Methos-expert, but from what I’ve heard, our old friend has been through a lot. More than I --or you-- could imagine."

That made me curious. "What do you mean?"

My Watcher looked like he didn’t really want to answer that. "Look, Mac. Maybe you should ask Methos about it."

"Come on, Joe." I handed him my glass for a refill. "You know he won't tell me anything."

"MacLeod…" He sighed.

"Please? This is important."

Joe poured me another glass of whiskey. I could see that he was thinking about it, and knew that it was best to keep my mouth shut now. Whining wouldn't work.

"All right." He finally nodded, and then walked from behind the bar, nodding to one of his employees to take care of business while we talked. I followed him to the little table near the stage. 

We sat down, and I put my glass on the table, waiting for my Watcher to begin.

"Like I told you when you first went to look for him, Methos is quite elusive. There are huge gaps in his chronicles. Sometimes he's managed to avoid being Watched for decades, even centuries." Joe smiled a little. "Of course there are some very detailed entries in his chronicles, the latest of those is from the 16th century. It's my personal opinion, that it must have been some ancestor of Adam Pierson, who worked as Methos-chronicler back then."

I answered his smile. It sounded just like my devious friend to do something like that.

"When you were in London, something happened. I won't bother you with the details here, but basically he helped me and someone I care about." 

"What…" Seeing his stubborn look, I didn't bother to finish the question. I didn't really need to know what had happened. Of course I was tingling with curiosity, but at that moment it wouldn't have been wise to annoy my Watcher. Maybe later. "Sorry. Go on."

Joe relaxed and nodded. "During our time together, he gave me a name. I don't think he intended to reveal one of his old identities, it just slipped out. Doctor Benjamin Adams."

The name didn't say anything, but the title certainly did. "Doc? Wasn't that what Byron called him?"

"That would certainly fit the timeline. Anyway, I did some research on that name and title, and found quite a few references on that person over the period of three centuries. I narrowed the search roughly to Byron's time and discovered that on the turn of the 19th century, he spent years working with those who couldn't afford to send for a doctor. Mainly slaves, but other poor people, too." My Watcher silenced, waiting to see how his words affected me.

I wasn't sure what to say. Of course I'd known he'd been a physician in the past. The efficient way he'd taken care of Joe after he'd been shot had proved that. But somehow I'd never really thought about him actually practicing medicine before. Shrugging, I said, "So he took care of the needy. That doesn't…"

"The name isn't the only thing that slipped through his shields." Joe interrupted me. "When he reminisced about something that had happened a long time ago, he said that he helped slaves, because maybe in a previous life he'd been one."

That certainly caught my attention. "A slave? Methos?" My mind was reeling. The one who had once caused terror to the hearts of men as a servant? 

My Watcher smiled cynically. "Yes, Methos. You really surprise me, MacLeod. Is it really that hard for you to grasp? The man is five _thousand_ years old. Don't you think he's probably been through a lot more than you will ever know?"

I knew that. But it still sounded preposterous. It sounded… very probable indeed.

Having had slaves, as well as having been one. That made sense. After all, we'd all experienced both sides of almost everything. What we did to others was usually done to us, too. I'd killed, and so had he, both of us facing the other end of various weapons, too. He'd destroyed many lives, but his life had probably been destroyed too. He'd raped and…

My mind balked at that prospect. 

Joe nodded at me, probably reading my stunned expression correctly. "Yeah, I guess you can at least imagine it. Makes you wonder about lots of things, doesn't it?" 

There was nothing I could say to that. Not a damn thing. I knew that if I asked him, Methos wouldn't tell me about the gruesome details of his life after he'd left the Horsemen, and I was certain I never wanted to hear about that time. But my mind was conjuring all kinds of horrors on its own. Not just death, but all the other violations you could do to another person. And Methos was in every image. Not as the one doing the monstrosities, but as the victim.

"I'm not saying he's a saint. Far from it. I just want you to keep in mind, that there are more sides to him than he'll ever show you." It seemed that my Watcher had told me all that he'd wanted to. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work." With that, Joe left me alone with my thoughts. 

I didn't touch my glass again. All the confusing and conflicting emotions would just drive me mad if I added more liquor to my system. No, it was best to approach the whole matter sober.

That didn't mean that I was ready to approach Methos yet, though. I needed to think before seeing him again. He would probably just say something that would make the whole thing worse, if I wasn't prepared to everything, including facing my own feelings. The bar wasn't all that bad place for soul searching, but I needed space to be all by myself with my thoughts. So I nodded at Joe who was again standing behind the counter polishing glasses, and then headed out.

Driving around aimlessly didn't help me clear my thoughts. All the conflicting images of the old man were spinning around in my head, blending into one big blur. How could I ever even think of knowing just who and what exactly Methos was?

I still had no idea what to say to him when I got back home. It wasn't until I drove past the mall for the third time that I realized I didn't have to know what to do or say. I just had to keep in mind that he was my friend. In every sense of the word. He probably cared for me just as much as I cared for him, even though he sure had a funny way showing it sometimes.

Holding that thought, I turned left at the next intersection, and headed home.

I was cautious as I stepped inside the loft, even though it was almost sure that the Presence I felt was Methos'. One glance around the room told me I'd been right. My friend was sprawled on the couch, one of his long legs propped on the coffee table. I glared at the limb in question, but didn't say anything. I was certain that he was just trying to annoy me again.

He didn't say anything either, as I walked to the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice. I could feel his eyes on the back of my head, though. It was almost like he was waiting for something to happen.

When I saw the condition of the kitchen, I sighed. He _really_ knew how to drive me mad. "Methos. Next time you make yourself a sandwich, would you please clean up the mess you've made?" I threw an irritated glance at him over my shoulder and started to shove all the plastic containers back in the fridge.

"What if I won't?" 

Now that was just stupid. "Then stay the hell out of the kitchen!" I glowered at him, and this time didn't keep the comment about his manners inside. "And remove your foot from the table. This is my home, not a stable." To make my point, I muttered a few chosen profanities under my breath.

"If you want me to leave, just say so." Methos growled.

I shook my head. "I don't want you to leave. What I do want, is for you to stop trying to make me crazy. It won't work this time. Nothing will make me drive you away. You'll just end up hurting us both." 

The previous time I'd walked away from him, he'd been forced to deal with his past alone. Oh, he'd known I'd follow him and do whatever it took to free the world of the Horsemen, but I couldn't help thinking that I could have saved us all from a great deal of pain if I'd listened to him in the first place. He'd asked \--no, _begged_ \-- me to understand that he'd changed, but I'd refused to hear what he was really saying. I would not make the same mistake again. 

Methos shook his head. "I'll end up doing that anyway. One way or the other. Cassandra's your friend, Mac. I don't want you to get involved in her vendetta."

"Yes, she is my friend. But so are you. And you're not listening to me. You're not dragging me into this. I'm already involved." I shook my head when he tried to say something. "Let me finish."

He didn't look too happy about it, but didn't say a word.

Taking a deep breath before continuing, I sat next to him on the couch. "If I thought for a minute that you would hurt anyone on purpose, I'd kill you myself. But I know you won't. You just don't have it in you anymore."

"You're deluding yourself." Methos smiled coldly. "I would kill anyone if that's what it took to stay alive."

I wondered if that was really so, but instead of confronting him about it, I nodded. "I know that. But you would never go to pick a fight with some innocent bystander. That's what makes the difference. You have changed. But so has she."

Looking sad, he shook his head. "No, MacLeod. She hasn't changed. She just became what I made her to be. Whatever hate she feels towards me, I deserve it."

Yes, he does. No he doesn't. Both thoughts flashed through my mind. I stared at him, sprawled there on a couch, like he was exposing himself for my scrutiny. And I was looking. I couldn't not to. Joe was right, he was no saint. But Cassandra was wrong, too. Methos wasn't a monster either. I looked, and I saw him. _Really_ saw him. 

And I liked what I saw.

"Yes. At least the man you were does. But if she wants revenge, she should come here and challenge you. The way it's supposed to be done. For as long as she's using others to do her dirty work, I will not stand by and let her destroy innocent lives." I looked into his eyes, wanting him to understand that I really meant it. When I saw him nod slightly, I smiled. "Good. Now, let's see what we have for dinner."

I ended up making just a light salad. Methos grumbled about having to eat rabbit food, but he still refilled his plate twice. I didn't even try to hide my amusement. It was just like those days in Paris, when he'd spent days on the barge when I'd tried to help Robert and Gina. Him being sarcastic and whiny, and me enjoying every minute of it. 

Not that I'd ever tell that to him. 

After I'd forced him to help me with the dishes, he searched my bookshelf for something to read, and after complaining about my taste in literature, he curled on the couch with a book. I went downstairs to go through that month's paperwork.

I didn't get much done, though. Instead of filling out forms and sorting out the bills, I just sat in the office, thinking. Mostly about what I'd said to Methos. 

About the lies I'd told. Even if Cassandra came to challenge Methos herself, I wouldn't be able to just stand by and watch them fight. I would do whatever it took to prevent…

I shook my head, cutting that thought out before it had the chance to be finished. It still haunted me, though. Would I try to talk them out of fighting? Or would I do anything to see that my friend wouldn't die?

And if it was the latter, was I thinking about Cassandra or Methos?

Methos was already lying on the couch when I got back up, his head on a pillow, a blanket pulled up to his chin. He just glanced up from his book as I stepped into the loft, and then turned his concentration back on whatever he was reading.

I walked to my bed, wondering if I should say something or not. After deciding that yes, I really should talk to him, I spent a few minutes trying to think how to phrase it. In the end, it just came out. "Methos?"

"Mmh?" 

"You know I wouldn't have talked to the Watchers, no matter what you'd decided, don't you?"

There was a moment of silence. "No. Actually I didn't know that."

"Well, I wouldn't have." It was a gamble, but I had to add, "If you decide to leave now, I won't go to them, either. I won't stand in your way."

"Are you asking me to leave?" Methos' tone was nondescript.

"No! I'm _asking_ you to stay. Not telling you to. Asking you. What I want is for you to stay here, so we can try to make some sense of this whole mess. Please, don't go."

The blanket made a rustling sound as Methos sat up, and turned to face me. His expression was unreadable, as he searched my face for something. "If you put it that way…" He hesitated for a moment, looking as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. Then he grinned. "Yes. I'll stay."

I answered his grin --pretending I didn't hear it when he muttered something about having finally lost his mind-- and then started to get ready for bed. 

* * *

Somehow the next few days felt peaceful, even though I knew that my worst fears were now true. Cassandra meant business. That was bad, but not as bad as worrying about Methos leaving me. I had no idea why, it just was.

Joe made a comment on Friday about weekends and the possibility of another attack. After all, both hunters had appeared at the end of the week. My Watcher had even a theory about that. It had something to do with rhythm of the working week or something. Apparently it was easier to leave everything behind on weekends to go on a murdering rampage. His theory wasn't all that shaky, so I thought it was best to listen to him.

So I spent most of the two days looking over my shoulder, never more than a few steps away from my sword, or Methos. And of course nothing happened. 

Somehow that seems to be the way things go. 

After two days of nothing to do but worry, it was a relief to get back to work on Monday. I took my Art History 101 class on a field trip to the Art Museum, and after two hours of herding teenagers in that vast building, I was starting to think that staying home with Methos hadn't been all that bad after all. Fortunately the afternoon went a lot easier, and I wasn't a complete nervous wreck when I got back home. 

Methos seemed to be on a good mood when he arrived to the loft. Apparently he'd spent most of the day gossiping with his students. In Latin. How lovely.

I didn't know if it was because of the overstressed weekend, or the late supper we had, but I didn't get sleep that night until it was almost dawn. When the alarm clock started its maddening beeping, I'd managed to sleep for almost two hours. 

My friend raised an eyebrow as he saw the shape I was in. "Feeling a little sick today, aren't we?"

Glowering, I headed towards the bathroom. When I almost fell asleep before flushing the toilet, I decided that he was absolutely right. Damn these autumn flues! Dragging myself to the phone, I made the call to the U and then crawled back to bed. Methos could take care of himself. If I went anywhere with him that day, he would have been forced to protect me. I was so tired my katana would have probably slipped through my nerveless fingers after the first blow.

The last thing I heard before falling asleep again, was Methos' comment about Sleeping Beauty. I didn't mind. After all, I wasn't the one who had to actually go to work that day.

I slept way past noon, and when I finally woke up, I felt great. Now I had some time for myself. A long, relaxing shower sounded like a perfect way to start the day, and for once I didn't have to worry about saving enough hot water for Methos. I did smile wryly as I noticed that he'd used almost all of my shower gel again. No matter, I could always buy more. 

When I'd finished showering, and had eaten a humongous breakfast, I called Joe. He'd just gotten to the bar, trying to handle both ordering more beverages from the wholesale and practicing with the band. 

My Watcher had spent his free day making phone calls and checking the most recent reports. His voice lowered as he told me about a few missing Immortals. Apparently that wasn't all that unusual, but when they were all relatively young, and had been disappeared in a place where no known hunter had hunted since -85, it made all the warning bells ring. Both men who had tried to take Methos' head had last been seen in New York. Unless that place had suddenly become the Bermuda Triangle of Immortality, it had something to do with Cassandra. 

For a fleeting moment I thought of making reservations to fly to the Big Apple right away. Then I realized it wouldn't really serve any purpose. If she didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be found. I couldn't leave Methos here all by himself for as long as I went searching for Cassandra, and moving this whole thing to a big city would be like assisting her with her plans. No. It was best if we stayed put, and waited for her to come to us instead of other way around.

I thanked Joe for his information before letting him rejoin his band. He sounded a little stunned. Maybe I should show him my appreciation a little more often.

When Methos came home, we spent the evening at the loft. It was different from the weekend, though. We were both relaxed, instead of being a bit jumpy all the time. 

Knowing that we'd both start to suffer from cabin fever if we just sat around the house every day, I asked Methos if he'd like to go to Joe's the next evening. Not to spend five minutes chatting official business with my Watcher, but to really spend the evening there, listening to the band play, and enjoying the atmosphere. 

The smile on his face was answer enough.

I was definitely more alert the next morning than I'd been on the previous one. I even found myself humming while I made the coffee. Methos didn't say anything, he just threw an amused glance at me. As I drove to the university, I couldn't help thinking that it was about time we had some time off. Not from each other, but from the loft, and the constant worrying. I swore myself that I wouldn't even think about Cassandra that evening.

Oddly enough, I was able to keep my promise. As long as we were in the bar, that is. 

When our classes had ended, we headed straight to Joe's. Since it was in the middle of the week, the band started playing early. That suited me perfectly. A few hours of relaxation, then home for a late supper. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Joe had hired a new bass player, one that could really play. Usually the background players seemed to fade away as Joe started to sing. Not this time. The new guy really knew his business, and the poignant sounds blended perfectly with my Watcher's husky voice. Methos grinned at me, and took a sip from his soda. He seemed perfectly happy even without the beer. 

"You seem to be enjoying yourself." I teased him, when he applauded enthusiastically after one song.

Methos didn't even pretend to be annoyed. He just nodded. "You bet I am!" His eyes gleamed. "I'm not seeing you doing any brooding, either."

"Nope. Not tonight." 

"Good." The smile on my friend's face softened into something unreadable. I could still see the happiness in the hazel gaze. Then that gaze flickered back to the stage as the band begun a slow ballad. Something about love, I guess. Didn't really listen to the lyrics. It was enough for me to sit there, sip on my soft drink, and enjoy myself too.

We left the bar a few hours later, well before the sun went down. It wasn't all that easy to just get up and leave, but we both had a work day on Thursday. 

I waved at Joe, mouthing the word, 'tomorrow' at him. He nodded, and then concentrated on entertaining the rest of his patrons. There was a wistful look on Methos' face as he got up to his feet, but he didn't say anything as we headed towards the door. I guess there was nothing to say, really.

The parking lot had been half full when we'd got there. Good for business, but bad for health. I realized that when for the first time in hours I thought about hunters, revenge and Cassandra.

Would have been hard to keep my thoughts from all things unpleasant with the buzzing feeling echoing on the back of my head.

This time when the Presence washed over me, I didn't hesitate. In seconds I was standing next to Methos, my blade gleaming in the fading sunlight. My friend was taking a defensive pose as well, even though he didn't make a move towards his sword.

"MacLeod!" It was a yell from a distance. As if a warning, telling me not to run. Obviously this young pup didn't know me at all.

When he was closer, I answered him with normal voice, "I'm here."

The man was hauntingly similar to the two other headhunters sent to take Methos' head. Young, arrogant, cold. He halted about ten meters from us, and then fixed his gaze on mine. "I have a message for you. I'm to tell you that this will not end until the monster is dead. You know what he is, and you should know better than to stand between him and justice. And I am that justice." He opened his coat to show his sword.

"Did Cassandra tell you to say that?" I couldn't keep the hurt out of my voice. Up until that moment I'd been so sure she would come to her senses and challenge Methos herself. Then I would have had the chance to talk to her. To tell her why I trusted Methos. How I considered him a friend. 

"Yes. Those were her exact words." The man answered blankly. "She does not understand how you could ally yourself with such a demon, but she knows you're a good and decent man. So you're not to be harmed in any way. Unless you continue interfering." The last words were full of something akin to regret. 

Good God! Did he --and she-- really think that I would just walk away and leave Methos to them? That I would accept this so called justice? If I hadn't allowed Nefertiri butcher her foe after thousands of years had passed since his atrocities, why the hell would I let Cassandra use her victims to do her dirty work and kill Methos? 

I didn't move my sword. "You go back to Cassandra, and tell her that if she wants him, she should come for him herself. As long as she sends others, I will intervene." Even if she came herself, I'd intervene. I wouldn't try to fight her, I'd try to talk her out of it, to show her that Methos would not harm her, or anyone.

The man just snarled, "Go to hell!" His blade hit mine, and then he sneaked past me and attacked Methos.

My friend had obviously anticipated the move. Sidestepping the clumsy lunge, he pulled a knife from under his coat, and stabbed the man in the back.

He watched the other Immortal crumble into a lifeless heap on the ground, and then turned to me. "Let him take your message back to Cassandra. I have no desire to take his head."

"Fine. Let's go then." We'd been in plain sight all along, and it was a miracle no one had seen us. It wouldn't have been a good idea to stay there with the corpse, especially since one of us held the murder weapon. 

Without looking at the body on the ground, we walked to my car. 

* * *

It was strange how that evening wasn't ruined by he hunter. We didn't talk about it with Methos, but somehow I felt like we were making progress. Cassandra was bound to hear what I'd said, and maybe, just maybe things would calm down now. 

I slept well that night.

When we were heading to work the next morning, I asked Methos to be extra careful that day. We didn't know if and when the hunter would return. Surprisingly, I didn't get a suffering sigh from my friend, but a curt nod. 

The morning class was very intriguing. Instead of having a lecture, I made the students debate about the meaning of the great masters of the renaissance era. It was always interesting to hear fresh and modern insights on things that happened centuries before my students had born. 

I tracked Methos down on lunch break, buying him a sandwich at the cafeteria. We chatted about our classes, keeping the conversation light. I bet he was thinking about Cassandra, though. Just as I was. If things went well, this whole mess would be over in a day or two.

The afternoon seemed to fly by, and soon we were once again on our way home. 

My friend fidgeted on the passenger seat, his fingers drumming the dash board. I saw his gaze flicker to the grocery store as we passed it by, and grinned. We both knew that there wasn't anything to eat back home. "How about if we order for some Chinese?"

"What?" 

"Food. You look hungry." And I wasn't in the mood for cooking.

Methos grinned. "Yeah, sure. Chinese's fine. I'm starving."

Well, that wasn't exactly news. I was glad the old man bought half the stuff we ate, otherwise he really would have eaten me bankrupt. "You're buying."

The grin faded slightly. Then he nodded. "Okay. But you're making the call."

As I maneuvered the car on the parking square, there was a smile still lingering on my lips. Methos really knew how to haggle about things. But of course I could make the call. That way I could order whatever I wanted. 

We stepped out, and I turned back to grab my bag. I almost hit my head as the feeling of another Presence made me straighten up before I was completely out of the car. My stomach clenched at the anticipation. Could it be her already? 

Leaving the bag where it was, I stepped away from the car, frowning as I saw the Immortal approaching us. 

It was the man Methos had stabbed the day before. By the look on his face --and the drawn sword-- nothing had changed. Damn it! I stepped forward before he could attack my friend, and demanded, "Didn't you have enough fighting earlier? You challenged him, he won. He let you walk away with your head and that's just what you should do. Walk away."

The man turned his gaze to meet mine. "I will not rest until I have taken his head."

"You already had a chance to take it." I pulled my sword from under my coat. "If you want to fight, you'll fight with me next."

"Don’t!" Methos grabbed my arm.

Ignoring him, I kept my eyes on the young man. "What’s it gonna be? Will you walk away, or do we fight?"

The man didn’t even take a minute to think about it. Even as his blade hit mine, he screamed, "Fight!"

Methos scrambled farther away from us, as I parried the man's next blow. 

It was quite obvious from the beginning that the man wasn't all that experienced with the sword. Still, I backed away from him, guiding him to the side of the building. That way we wouldn't be in plain sight of everyone who passed by. After that, the actual fight didn't last more than a few minutes.

Then the headhunter was on his knees before me, his sword on the ground, about five feet from him.

"You can still walk away!" I really didn't want to take his Quickening. There was no enmity between him and me. If he'd tell me that he'd let go of his pursuit for my friend's life, he'd be free to go.

I didn't get any intelligent answer. The hunter howled something at me, his eyes gleaming with total madness. It was clear that he wouldn't stop until he either died or took Methos' head.

If those were the options, I'd choose the former one.

The familiar swing of my katana separated his head from his shoulders with one clean cut. I stepped back, and then shuddered as I saw the stricken look on Methos’ face.

I didn't have the time to say anything before the Quickening hit me. 

It started out as any ordinary Quickening, the man's life energy gathering into white mist around his body, and then making electrical charges burst towards me. But as the first wave of it hit me, I screamed, the sword falling to the ground from my nerveless fingers, as I wrapped my arms across my chest, doubling over.

_Pain_. Enormous, piercing pain coursed through my whole body. Wave after wave of pure agony. Right behind it came the fear. Fear towards the blue faced man who was causing all the pain.

I screamed again.

The pain just worsened, feeling now like a stab wound in my gut. I tried to cry out, but the pain was so bad I couldn't make a sound. My knees gave in, and I slumped into a heap on the ground next to my sword. It felt like I was dying, and in a way I was. At least in these surreal mental images that seemed to be, but somehow weren't mine. 

Then the pain hit me anew, but this time lower than my stomach.

" _No_!" Invisible hands were roaming all over me, hurting me, making me scream as the pain in the part of my body I didn't even have increased. I was being taken, someone was forcing me to lay still as he invaded me in a way I hadn't even thought possible before that horrible moment. I could hear a low voice telling me that I should stop struggling and that it wouldn't hurt if I just accepted what was going on, but every word just made me fight against him even more. I couldn't let him do it to me. Not after losing my whole world to the terror that rode from the sunrise to wipe away everything I'd ever loved.

I could see my assailant, his face contorted in pleasure as he drove inside me, sweat running down his forehead. The image was demonic, blue paint mixed with smudges of blood. My blood. I didn't know how I knew that. I just did. He had just killed me, again, and now he was showing me that I couldn't escape him even into death. 

He ruled over me, and he apparently even ruled over death. 

The strong hand grabbed my hair, and pulled my head back. Dark eyes drilled into mine, and the monster who was using my body smiled. "You're mine."

"Never! Never, never, never…" I groaned over and over again, tears stinging at my eyes, as he just laughed.

It seemed to take forever. The pain, the humiliation. Finally I felt him shudder over me, and then his whole body went limp for just a moment. Feeling the evidence of his climax inside me, I couldn't hold up the tears anymore, and began to sob, hating myself for letting him see it. 

Still crying, I didn't make a move to run as he rolled off my body and then got to his feet. I tried to curl into a ball, hide myself from his eyes, but he lifted me from the ground and began to carry me to his tent. I was limp on his shoulder. Fighting would just make it worse, just like he said. It would just make him to kill me again, and then take me as I came back to life. I couldn't escape him.

We reached his tent, and he just dropped me to the ground. Glancing up, I saw him pull off his tunic, wiping his face with it. There was a smile on his lips as he looked down at me. 

I knew I should get up and assist him in cleaning the rest of his body, but for some reason I couldn't move a muscle. The smile disappeared from his face, and then he crouched down beside me, his hand raised into a blow. 

Whimpering, I crawled as far from him as possible. "No, no, no, not anymore, no…" I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the fist slam into me.

"It’s over. Calm down." 

But it wasn’t over. It could never be over. How could it be, when the man behind all that terror was still alive? I felt a wall behind my back, and couldn't get any farther from him. When the blow never came, I began to shiver.

"Everything is all right." The voice was even softer now. There was a feeling there I couldn't recognize. "Please, Duncan, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you."

Duncan? Oh, yes. Duncan MacLeod. That was who I was. But then who was the person who had just been attacked? And who was calling my name? I opened my eyes. When I saw Methos crouched a few feet from me, I flinched. "Don't come any closer!" Even though there was no paint on his face, I could clearly recognize him as the man who had just… But that couldn't have happened, could it?

There was a flash of pain in his eyes. "I won't. Just calm down. I'm not coming closer."

Slowly, I looked around, and realized that I was sitting under a window at the loft. "How… How did I get here?" Where was my sword? Why the hell was I talking to this monster?

"I carried you here. After the Quickening you just fell on the ground and lay there. I thought it was best if I got you as far from the body as possible." He took something from his pocket, moving his hand very slowly, and then held out my cellular. "I called Joe. His team is getting rid of the hunter."

It was hard, but I managed to reach out and snatch the phone from his hand. Methos frowned at my quick move, but didn't say anything. 

My mind was in turmoil. I was home, in Seacouver. In the present, not centuries ago in a filthy little camp in a tent with a stranger who owned my body and soul. Nothing I just experienced was real. Not to me. 

"MacLeod? What happened?" Methos sounded like he wasn't really sure he even wanted to know.

His question made me swallow hard. "I… Cassandra sent another message." It was a miracle I could squeeze the words out. Message indeed. 

Leaning closer, Methos looked like he was about to grab my shoulder. I panicked.

"Don't touch me!" It was a harsh growl. "Don't _ever_ touch me again!" The memory of those hands on my skin made me feel nauseous. 

Methos laid his hand on his thigh. "All right. Take it easy. I won't touch you if you don't want me to."

The words echoed in my mind, mingling with a distant memory of him telling me that I wanted him to touch me. That I would beg for his touch if he asked me to. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and I could taste bile in my mouth. 

I needed to get out of there. Or at least away from him. God, I felt so dirty! Grabbing my sword from where it had been, on the floor right next to me, I moved slowly towards the bathroom, keeping my eyes at him all the time. I bumped into the kitchen island once, and almost tripped on Methos' shoes that were in the middle of the floor as usual, but I couldn't turn my back on him. 

My palms were so sweaty that I had trouble in turning the door handle, but finally I managed to get inside the bathroom with a locked door between Methos and me.

Yanking off my clothes, I hurried to the shower stall, avoiding my reflection on the mirror while doing that. I turned the water on, making the downpour as hot as I could stand. Then I started to wash myself clean, rubbing myself vigorously. The wash cloth didn't seem to be enough, and I grabbed the brush I used to wash my back. Half the remaining shower gel went on the brush, and then I continued washing myself. Scrubbing, and scrubbing until I bled. 

I turned the water off when it became ice cold, shivering from the cold, as well as fear. I tried to push the feeling of dread as far away as possible. No matter how much I'd been hurt or humiliated, I was _not_ defeated. I would not cry, or give in to the urge to stay in the small bathroom forever, hiding from the man outside. 

Since I hadn't gotten any clean clothes with me, I pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt from the hamper. There was no way in hell I'd go to the loft undressed, and I wouldn't touch my torn jeans and sweater either. No, I'd never wear those clothes again.

Before entering the loft, I had to take long, deep breaths at the door. Then I realized I was stalling, and angrily shoved the door open. 

I glanced around the loft, tightening my grip on the handle of my sword. When I saw Methos sitting on the couch, I relaxed a little. 

For a second I had the vision of walking to him, raising my blade and cutting off his head with one swing. It would be so satisfying to see the dread on his face, maybe even to hear him beg for his life before shutting him up for all eternity.

The thought made me shake my head, shocked of the whole idea. How could I think of something like that? He was _unarmed_! Sitting there with a worried look on his face. It was nothing like the monster who had attacked me. 

Instead of approaching him, I found myself moving back to the spot I'd sat earlier, sinking down, still holding my sword tight.

I sat there, my back against the wall, flinching every time Methos made even the slightest shift in his position.

"Duncan?" His voice was unusually hushed. "I'll get up now. Then I'm going to walk to the fridge, get myself a beer and then come back to sit on the couch. Don't panic."

But I did. His movements made my heart pound in my chest, even though I tried to relax. I glanced around the room, needing to pinpoint his sword, and when I saw it leaning against the wall by the doorway, I concentrated on Methos again. My gaze followed him to the kitchen, and then back to the main loft area. A soft sigh of relief escaped me as he finally sat on the couch, and stayed there, just holding the bottle. 

The echo of what had happened thousands of years ago was now fading a little, changing from something that had happened to me into a distant memory of something I'd once heard of. Or maybe read of. I _knew_ that it had never happened to me, but every time I saw Methos glance at me, I shivered with irrational fear.

I hated it.

The feeling of helplessness and dread was something I wasn't used to. Instead of cowering on the floor, I wanted to smash things. And kill him! But I couldn't do that. Couldn't because he was...

He was my friend.

Oh, God! What the hell was happening here? 

"Mac?"

Methos' quiet voice didn't make me jump this time. At least not visibly. But inside I was shivering. "What?"

"Can you tell me what happened? Why are you afraid of me?"

"You…" What could I say? Blame him for raping me? It hadn't happened in reality, only in my mind. "I went through something that happened to Cassandra. What you did to her." I didn't have to say more. His stricken expression told me that he'd already understood.

Wasn't probably all that hard to guess from my actions.

"Did you see it happen, or did you 'live' it?" Methos asked with the same calm voice he'd used all the time. 

I licked my dry lips and managed to whisper. "Lived it." Went through every single touch, every single burst of pain, hoping I could just die. Hoping I could kill him.

He sighed, and closed his eyes. "None of it is real. It did not happen. Not to you, not to anyone for a long, long time. Not to anyone again. You must trust me, Duncan and leave it behind."

"I can’t help it, Methos. I _remember_ it! Your hands, your touch that hurt so much that I just wanted to die. Don’t tell me it wasn’t real. It's not for me, but it was for Cassandra!" My words stunned me. Yes. It was not real. Not real.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. "Yes. I won’t insult your intelligence by lying to you about it. The first times I had her were rape. Maybe all of them were, even though after a few weeks she stopped fighting and in time even seemed to enjoy it."

"Enjoy it? God, Methos! How can you say that?" I squeezed my hands together, fearing that I would either do that or run to him and strangle him. After experiencing what had happened all those long centuries ago, I'd never, ever, believe _anyone_ would enjoy that!

My outburst didn’t affect Methos in any way. "It’s common that the abused come to care for the abuser. It doesn’t mean that they like the abuse, they just conjure a mental image of their captor as a romantic figure to stay sane."

How rational. Well, he wasn't the one who'd been mauled… I closed my eyes. 

A deep breath. Then another. And another. I had to calm down, or everything would go straight to hell. The hatred and fear and reason all blended into one in my mind, and it was impossible for me to separate them. I hated him, and feared him, and knew he had nothing to do with either of those facts. 

I'd been hurt, and I was aware that he was capable of all those things that Cassandra had shown me in the Quickening. Still I also knew that there was so much more in Methos. So much I didn't want to lose. 

No matter how strong the urge to hurt him was, I had to fight against it. After Bordeaux, I'd spent days, even weeks trying to figure out why I still stayed in touch with Methos. The conclusion had been simple. I cared about him. Even though his moral standards were so different from mine, he still had some kind of code of honor, and I called him friend. 

I still did.

"I don't want to talk about it." 

"All right. We won't talk about it if you're not ready." Soft, soothing words that didn't make me feel any better. At least it would have been easier to react to scorn, or his usual flippant remarks.

Not wanting to say anything more, I nodded.

"Do you want me to leave?" Methos didn't get up, but he did gather his coat into his arms, eyeing his sword. "I could call Joe or even try to reach Amanda. You shouldn't be alone now."

It was clear that he was worried for me. Knowing that made it easier for me to shake my head. "No. Stay. If you walk away, we'll never be able to solve this whole thing." Even the fear couldn't drown the voice that insisted that I wanted him to stay.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

I managed a little smile. Or maybe it was a grimace. "No. But I think that you leaving is an even worse idea. Just don't touch me!" It came out as an accusation. As a warning. No matter how much I needed him to not to leave, I knew I would snap if he laid a finger on me.

Methos lifted his hands up. "I won't. I promise."

He'd damn well better keep his word. I nodded, and then inched my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. 

All thoughts of ordering food in had disappeared from my head. There was no way I could have eaten anything. Even the water made me feel slightly nauseous.

I glanced around, wondering how could I spend the whole evening in that relatively small space alone with a man I feared and hated. The answer was simple. I couldn't. 

Still holding my sword against my chest, I moved to the elevator. "I'll be downstairs." Without waiting for an answer, I pulled the grate down and was on my way to the dojo.

Sitting in the safety of my small office, I couldn't believe I was doing this to myself. Why the hell hadn't I driven Methos out of my home? In fact, why the hell was he still alive? I'd encountered rapists and murderers before, and they had not survived those meetings. Why was I holding back _now_ , after witnessing what the old man had been way back then?

I didn't have an answer to that. Maybe it was because I'd spent months thinking about him. What he was, what he'd been. Or maybe it was because of the weeks I'd lived with him, insisting that he stayed with me, needing him to be safe. 

Or maybe, just maybe, the answer was as simple as the word, 'friend'. 

When I was sure I could handle going back up, I spent over half an hour standing near the elevator, wondering how I could sleep up there, with Methos a few feet away from me. Yes, we'd shared the loft for weeks, but still. I couldn't really be sure he'd leave me alone.

Gathering finally my courage, I rode the way upstairs, sighing with relief when I saw that Methos was already lying on the couch. His sword was in plain sight, as were his empty hands. Good. I could walk past him.

Every step was a battle against the urge to fight or flee. I jumped as the old man coughed, and then felt really uncomfortable as he turned his gaze to me.

"Mac? Are you sure..." His voice was concerned.

It hurt my ears. God, just shut up! Don't give me any excuses to throw you out. To send you away so I'd never see you again. Ever. "Yes." I growled. "Now shut up, all right?"

Methos looked startled. Then he slowly moved his hands closer to his head and took something from under his pillow. I tensed as I saw the gun, but then relaxed when he took a hold of the barrel. "Take this. Keep it under your pillow while you're sleeping. Just in case someone tries to get inside here at night."

That wasn't what he meant, and we both knew it. The gun was to soothe my worries. 'Just in case.' Just in case I lost it. The worst thing was that I really felt better now that I had a weapon I could use to protect myself against him. Not for an attack for my life, but for my body. Deep down inside I knew that he would never do something like that, but the images of that other Methos who was more than capable of killing and raping were still too fresh in my mind. 

But... He was giving me something I could use to kill him with. And then really kill him with my sword as he lay on the couch, bleeding from a bullet wound. I could trust him! I could. I really didn't need his gesture of goodwill.

I took the gun and then headed to bed without a word.

* * *

The night was one of the worst I'd ever had. Whenever I fell asleep, I lost the grip on reality, and was back in that filthy tent. Then when I jolted out of the dream, I lay in bed, wide awake, shivering. Inevitably, sleep claimed me about an hour later, and it all started over again.

I never found out whether Methos slept that night or not. If he was awake, he didn't make a sound. If he had, I would have probably killed him. 

In the dark, all my fears got more irrational. Four hundred years of living, and suddenly I was afraid of things that went bump in the night. 

Sheer stubbornness kept me from getting up and dragging my houseguest out of the loft. I had insisted that Methos stayed, and by God, he'd stay! And he'd stay in one piece. No matter how many times I slipped the safety off that small gun, I never made a move towards my blade. 

When the alarm finally ended the night, I climbed groggily up. I saw Methos' arms move as he stretched, and felt an odd tightness in my stomach. Fear and terror. Still squeezing the gun in my left hand, I grabbed my katana and a pile of clothes with my right, and then hurried to the bathroom, locking the door firmly behind me.

Not exactly the best way to start a workday. 

I took a long shower, rubbing myself with the wash cloth again, until my skin was sore. When I realized what I was doing, I put the wash cloth away, and rinsed all the traces of the shower gel off my skin. Then I pulled on the clean clothes I'd brought with me, and exited the bathroom.

Methos had already dressed up, and was making himself breakfast. I lowered the gun to the coffee table, knowing that I'd probably take it to bed the next night, too. Then I inched towards the kitchen island to pour myself a cup of coffee.

There was no idle chattering or small talk. Neither of us said a word while he ate, and then put on our shoes and grabbed our coats. I stayed far from Methos when he put his coat on, fastening his sword on its usual place under his left armpit. Then I copied his actions and followed him out the door.

I watched him sit on the passenger seat, and then entered the car, feeling relief as he crossed his hands on his lap. Without saying a word, I started the engines.

Methos went inside the main building of the university while I spent a few minutes grabbing a few books from the back seat, and collecting my notes. Then I followed him, wincing a little as I saw him standing at the doorway to the teachers' lounge, chatting with Laurel and some other History teacher. I'd hoped he'd already gone off to the class, but no. He hadn't even taken off his coat yet.

Glaring at him, I stepped inside the lounge, and then froze as my eyes went to the lockers. Oh, shit!

Damn it! Of course I had to leave the coat there. It wouldn't just be suspicious to wander around wearing it, it would also be dangerous for me to leave my coat anywhere in the classroom. I couldn't guard it all the time, and one of my students might find it, find my _sword_ , and probably get hurt and then sue the university. Or try to show off and then accidentally kill someone. If only I was still teaching about old wars and weaponry.

But still... I was definitely not comfortable with the thought of walking around in the maze-like building unarmed, either. Not when anyone could come after me. 

I stood there trying to think of what to do. Then a discreet clearing of a throat made me jump and I almost snarled at Methos, who was trying to get inside the room. I stepped to the left, so that he could pass me by. 

He just shook his head slightly, making sure that he didn't touch me when he moved inside the room, and then walked to his locker. After lowering his brief case on the floor, his hands went to his coat. 

My movement was immediate. In a second my right hand was on the hilt of my sword, and I was taking a defensive pose. 

Methos closed his eyes, sighing. Then he slowly moved his hands away from his coat's fastenings. "I'll need to take this off, MacLeod. Nothing more." Looking calm, he then removed his coat and put it in a hangar on his locker. The slam of the metal door made me relax, and only when he locked the locker, I was able to take off my own coat.

Laurel and her friend threw strange looks at me and Methos as they walked to the room, probably wondering what the hell was going on between the two of us. They didn't ask anything, though.

I gathered my things, and then hurried to the classroom before they would change their minds. There was no way I could give either of them any plausible explanation for my behavior, anyway.

It was hard to concentrate on teaching. Even though I loved Tizian's paintings, I had trouble making the lecture coherent. The youngsters looked at me really strangely when I repeated the remark on the red haired ladies for the third time. They probably thought I was going crazy.

All I could really think about, was the fact that I couldn't feel a Presence. Unlike all the times I'd thought about that at work those weeks after the first attack, this time I did not worry about Methos. I was relieved that I was completely safe, but still feeling jumpy. Waiting for the moment I did feel someone approach.

By the end of the day I was a nervous wreck. I just wanted to go home, so I could spend the weekend... I groaned as I realized that spending the weekend home meant spending it alone with Methos. 

Great.

I dismissed the class half an hour earlier than usual, wishing everyone a good weekend, and then hurried to the teachers' lounge. The sooner I felt the weight of my sword at my side, the better.

When I reached the main hallway, I froze. Apparently Methos had had the same idea as I'd had. Or then there was another Immortal in the lounge. 

It was too late to back off now, and I walked inside the lounge, frowning at Methos who was just stepping out of the men's room. Seeing him made terror flood through me. It was like someone had pushed a button, or a light switch. One minute I was just wary. The next I was certain I was in mortal danger. 

He glanced at me, not saying anything.

When he took the first step towards his locker, my breathing quickened, and I measured the distance to my own locker with my gaze. Even if I ran, it was unlikely I'd reach my sword before he would. But surely he wouldn't do anything here, in front of all these people? He wouldn't risk exposing himself. Would he?

I just didn't know. 

Hearing me gasp, Methos stopped, and turned to look at me. He frowned, seeing my panicked expression, and probably knew exactly what I was thinking of. I was still wondering what to do, when he casually continued walking to his locker, unlocking the door and then taking his coat. After loading a few books in his brief case, he closed the door, locked it, and pulled his coat on. Then he walked straight towards me.

Oh, God. He wouldn't! He couldn't! 

"I'll wait for you at the car, Mac." His voice was quiet as he passed me by with that simple remark and walked out the door. 

I couldn't move for a moment, once again frozen in place. Somehow I'd known all along that he wouldn't harm me, but the voices inside my head were almost too strong for me to resist. 

It made me nauseous. Being manipulated to do --to _feel_ \-- things I normally wouldn't reminded me too much of those months of uncontrolled violence after the Dark Quickening. The only difference was that the hate and the anger I'd felt back then had been focused on everything and everyone. All my dark thoughts were now focused on one person.

And God, I really did hate...

Shaking my head, I tried to clear my thoughts. I did hate, but that instant I tried to put the feeling into coherent thoughts, not one, but two names flashed through my mind.

It was making my head hurt. Throbbing pain on my temples, pulsating through my head. Taking a deep breath, I hurried to get my things, and then headed to the car, trying not to think of anything. 

That was the main focus of my being. Not to think about anything. Knowing that when we got to the loft, I'd inevitably start processing the matter, I drove towards the one place I knew I'd be safe from the confusion. Joe's.

Methos didn't say anything during the whole trip. If there hadn't been that alert look on his face, it would have almost been like a repetition from weeks before, when he'd been just a hollow shell of his usual self. When he'd been attacked by Cassandra's first hunter. 

My grip on the wheel tightened, as the headache worsened, almost as if I was approaching some dangerous area in my mind. All kinds of compassionate thoughts about Methos seemed to be off limits.

Like the other time we'd been at the little bar, Joe's seemed like a safe haven. Not for the same reason, though. I knew Methos would be preoccupied with my Watcher, and I'd have some time all for myself.

I fell back a few steps, as we walked from the car to the door, so I didn't have to turn my back at Methos. I didn't bother to even try to disguise it to be anything else than it was. Mistrust. 

The dark interior of Joe's had never felt more welcome, but as soon as I stepped inside, I realized that it wouldn't be all that easy to stay there after all. Standing behind the counter was my Watcher, with a slightly concerned look on his face.

He would want an explanation for the corpse his people had cleaned away from behind my house. Not just because it was his duty as a Watcher to find out all about the man, but also as a friend. How could he help if he didn't know the details?

Details I couldn't give him.

It was too late to turn back and walk away. I almost snapped at Methos as he hovered right beside me, and then sighed at the look on my Watcher's face. Not just curiosity, but worry, too. Great. 

Joe frowned. "What's going on with the two of you?"

"Nothing." My voice was flat. "Absolutely nothing." Without getting anything to drink, I walked to a table at the corner of the room, sitting so that my back was against the wall.

Methos stayed standing by the counter, talking to Joe quietly. My Watcher was frowning, and at one point of Methos' story, he made a shocked exclamation. I didn't hear what he said, but from the look he threw at me, I guessed that the old man had just told him about the message Cassandra had sent in the Quickening.

I didn't really care what he told Joe. No matter what words he used, they'd never be enough to describe what I felt. I doubted that my Watcher would understand it either. 

All the fear and hatred that filled me still left room for shame. Shame of being so weak. Of being so vulnerable, so exposed in front of someone who had no permission --no _right_ \-- to see me like that. Whatever Methos told Joe were just words. That did not bother me at all. To know that the sneaky old man had seen me in that shape, that was something I was upset about.

It didn't really matter that he hadn't done the deed itself. He'd been there to see me afterwards. Seen me lose all control. It was like he'd taken something precious away from me. Something I'd never even thought I possessed. 

The thought that it wasn't actually him who'd made me so exposed flashed through my head, followed by a sudden burst of confusion. I couldn't even think straight. God, I needed a drink.

I gestured at one of the waitresses, ordering myself a cup of black coffee and a sandwich. No matter how good it sounded to find oblivion in a bottle, I couldn't let myself drop my guards. Besides, I hadn't eaten anything for almost twenty-four hours. The faint feeling was probably because of hunger.

Joe tried to make an eye contact with me a few times, but I turned my gaze away every time. I really didn't want to talk with him at the moment. There were no reasonable thoughts in my mind, so how could there be any reasonable words? 

Thank goodness he understood my actions as a request to stay away from me. I didn't really want to have a fight with him. 

I spent most of the time we stayed at Joe's lost in my confusing thoughts. Later on, I didn't even know how long we'd been there. All I remember was eating two huge sandwiches, feeling sick in my stomach all the time, and watching Methos' every move. Even so, I still flinched as he approached my table. Luckily I didn't jump up and draw my sword. It was close, though.

Squinting my eyes, I followed him out of the bar. I did nod at Joe, but didn't feel comfortable enough to go and talk to him. It was probably for the best. He looked a little uncomfortable himself. 

I didn't say a word to Methos either that evening. There was _nothing_ to say. Even though I dreaded the night, I crawled to bed early. I was really tired. With the nine millimeter Baretta as my companion, I settled down for another restless night.

* * *

It didn't matter that the store was full of people on Saturday. We needed food, and I needed some time alone. After a breakfast of oatmeal, which Methos glowered at but ate anyway, I grabbed the car keys and left the loft.

Buying a large quantity of everything was a habit by now. Even though Methos didn't eat as much as Richie had when he was still a growing, mortal boy, the old man did have a healthy appetite. I walked through the aisles almost mechanically, filling the cart with all the usual stuff. Bread, cheese, meat, beer... My hand stilled as I held the bottle over the cart. Dark ale. What the hell?

Buying him beer? How could I? How could I buy that _monster_ anything?

And then, the rage vanished almost as quickly it had came. I blinked, still staring at the bottle. Where had that come from? A wave of irrational anger over something really insignificant. It wasn't something I usually felt, so it had to be... It had to be something planted in my mind. 

Squinting my eyes, I followed the thought through. Yes, planted in my mind, like someone had brainwashed me. It wasn't exactly a task to think of who it had been. 

"Are you all right, young man?"

I started, and then nodded at the gray-haired lady who was looking at me with concern written all over her face. She glanced disapprovingly at the bottle in my hand. 

Before she could say anything else, I put the bottle into the cart, and continued to walk towards the frozen food section. Instead of staying away from home for hours, I wanted to get back there. I had some thinking to do.

Sadly, though, even hours of thinking didn't make anything change. Twisting the matter in my head just made my head hurt. But I was determined to make some sense into what had happened days earlier. Or more precisely, what hadn't happened. All the pain and fear was just a part of the message. I knew it now.

But even though I _knew_ it, it didn't mean I could ignore the feelings inside me. 

The weekend seemed to fly by. I managed to hold a short conversation with Methos on Sunday, mostly about the work. It was really awkward, and I think we were both relieved when I went to make supper, and we could return to the silence that, as uncomfortable as it was, was better than the forced platitudes we'd exchanged.

That night, before I slid between the sheets, I spent a few minutes sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the gun I was holding in my hands. The weight of the weapon was reassuring, but did I really need the gun? Was it just like a rag a little child holds as he sucks his thumb, fearing of the boogey men in the dark? 

I smiled coldly at the thought. It reminded me of the nights my cousins and I had huddled together in the little hut we called home, after my mother had told us the tales of the banshees that roamed the moors, looking for little children. The only place the monsters had existed back then had been my imagination, just like it was now. 

Padding silently across the floor, I put the gun on the coffee table in front of the couch. I didn't need it anymore. 

Still, I flinched as Methos turned on his makeshift bed.

* * *

"Have you seen my black socks?"

Methos looked stunned at my question. "No, I haven't." 

I frowned, and walked to the bathroom, determined to find my socks. It was so typical. No matter how organized one was with clothes, whenever you needed socks, they were gone. 

Not surprisingly, I found the socks in the hamper, crumpled and sweaty. Great. Muttering from under my breath, I stormed back to the loft, knowing perfectly well that I was running late. Blue socks would have to do. 

As I put my shoes on, I could see Methos glancing at me every once in a while, looking curious. He didn't say anything, as I made a few comments about the weather on the way to the university, but kept staring at me like I'd gone insane.

He didn't move to get out of the car when I parked it. Instead, he turned to me, looking confused. "What's going on here?" He moved a little closer.

I flinched immediately, and then grimaced. Damn it! Methos noticed my involuntary movement, and sank back on his seat. Taking a deep breath, I managed to growl out, "I'm making an effort here, Methos. Don't..." I swallowed the words, 'don't ruin it'. 

Somehow he seemed to understand me. The hazel eyes squinted as he nodded. "I'll let you do it your way. Whatever it takes, Mac. Your friendship is too important for me to lose over this." Soft, determined words. There was no hesitation.

Just the words I needed to hear. I smiled at him, and then got out of the car.

I had thought about it a lot, and my solution was simple. I was going to try to put everything that had happened behind me. Thinking about it was making me nuts, so it was best to just stop going through it over and over again. I could do it. I could handle everything rationally!

Walking to the main entrance of Seacouver University, I felt better than I had for some time. 

It didn't matter that I had to repeat the thought that I was over it to myself about every five minutes. I wasn't an idiot, I knew it took time until I could really relax with my friend. But I was getting there, faster than I'd even imagined.

My colleagues looked surprised as I exchanged a few words with Methos on lunch break. Apparently my behavior on Friday had been somewhat alarming. No matter. It was all over now. Really. 

Since it was the day Joe's was closed, we headed straight home after work. I tried to call my Watcher, but he was out somewhere. Wondering where he was, I left a message on his answering machine. We really should talk. He was probably worried after what happened when we last met.

Methos was grading some essays as I prepared dinner. Everything was so calm, relaxed. After eating, I busied myself with washing the dishes, and then looked around the loft, needing to do something physical. Sitting in front of the TV all evening didn't sound all that tempting. 

Finally my gaze stopped at the potted plants I had on the shelf by the wall. They looked a little drooped. Maybe a relocation would do good for them. There was a nice sunny spot on the windowsill, and since it wasn't all that cold outside yet, I thought I should move my dying greenery there. They might survive after all.

I carried the smaller plants first, careful not to drop any of the dirt on the floor. The plants didn't look all that bad up close. Maybe a good treatment with some fertilizer would help. 

There was only one plant left, the largest of them, and I thought I might as well move it, too. There was space on the windowsill. As I grabbed the heavy pot, I saw Methos finish his work and get up to put his papers to his bag. I waited a second, so I wouldn't bump into him, and then headed towards the window.

It was that moment when the phone rang.

Both of us turned around at the same moment, moving to answer the phone. And since I was half a step closer to the phone than he was, I had a strange feeling that he was chasing me. Chasing me, and then catching me, as his hand brushed against my arm.

It was the faintest hint of touches, but it still made me jerk hard. The pot fell on the floor, small pieces of clay scattering all around us.

The crash made me jump back. "Get the _hell_ away from me!" The words came out instinctively.

Methos didn't say a word. He just walked to the elevator, barefooted and leaving his sword behind.

I stood in the empty loft, shaking all over. 

The mess went unnoticed, as I tried to calm myself. Hot tears were burning behind my eyelids, but I squeezed my eyes closed, to prevent the moisture from escaping. 

Joe's voice echoed in the room after the beep, but I didn't go to pick up the receiver. I couldn't even move. God! I'd been so certain I was over the fear and pain, and now even the thought of Methos touching me brought back everything. No matter how many times I'd assured myself --deluded myself-- that it was all right, the panic was right there, under the surface. Ready to come up whenever my friend was close enough.

Why the hell was this happening? Why did I let this happen to me? I didn't know whose fault it was, mine, Methos' or Cassandra's. The only thing I knew was that I was hurting, and that I was hurting Methos. All that pain. Nothing good would come of it. 

I looked around, wondering what to do next. The most obvious thing was to clean the floor, and I went to get the vacuum cleaner. Getting rid of all the shards gave me time to collect my thoughts in peace, and when everything was clean again, I had figured out what to do. 

Well, what I _wouldn't_ do, actually.

I wouldn't --couldn't-- let things continue like this.

* * *

It was easier said than done. I kept thinking about it for days, not really getting anywhere. 

Methos gave me space, careful not to do anything that might be seen as threatening. On one level I appreciated it. But on another... I hated it. Walking on eggshells 24 hours a day wasn't exactly my idea of domesticity.

Finally I turned to the only person I could trust with my confusion. No matter what we'd been through, I knew Joe would be there for me. 

I didn't say a word about the Quickening itself. It wasn't something I wanted to even think about. But I did spend a few hours talking about what had happened afterwards. We sat on a table near the stage, and as I talked, he just listened. It felt really weird in the beginning. After all, I wasn't used to bearing my soul like that, especially when I was staying away from that familiar drink of my native country. And not with someone as young as my Watcher. It got easier after I'd started, though. And no matter what else he may be, Joe is a good listener.

Of course it didn't really change things, but I felt a hell of a lot better after I'd had a chance to talk about everything. Putting all the feelings into words cleared my thoughts, too. Even the feelings I couldn't voice --mainly the way I hated myself for being so damn weak-- were easier for me to face. 

Joe wished me luck before I left the bar. I glanced at his wrist as I was walking past him, biting my tongue to keep the words inside. A moment later I felt relieved of my silence, as he quietly said that what had been said that evening had been said between two friends. Not an Immortal and his Watcher.

It was somewhat easier to spend that evening home. At least I was so tired after all the talking, that I didn't spend all my time brooding. 

No, I waited until the next morning before I started that again. 

On the abstract level everything was all right, but I couldn't bring myself to relax in Methos' company. It was horrible. Every time I snapped at him, I thought I should say something to make it better, but just couldn't. Instead I tried to show it to him somehow; making food I knew he didn't hate, keeping a firm hold on my emotions and actions while we were at the university.

Methos was able to read between the lines. At least it looked like that. He accepted my wordless apologies without comments.

But that wasn't enough. Not for either of us. For when it came to the important things, nothing had changed.

His closeness still made me tense up. It was involuntary, really. There was no real anger in me. Every dark image I had of him came from millennia ago. Yeah, that's what I told myself over and over again, but I still couldn't help panicking at the thought of his touch.

Every time I shied away from him, or flinched at his closeness, I could clearly see hurt in his eyes. He was beginning to look haggard, like he didn't get enough sleep at nights. It wasn't a big surprise. I also spent nights tossing and turning, even though the actual nightmares had ended. It was clear, that the tension was starting to get to him. All the silent accusations were tearing him apart.

Even more, the fear was tearing _me_ apart.

I wasn't ashamed of being afraid, but I was of being afraid of him and his touch. Methos had never done anything to hurt me. He'd risked his life for me. He'd helped me to do good deeds, not always completely voluntarily, but he'd been there when I really needed him. I couldn't let this situation to continue for longer. 

Took me days to go through the whole thing. Every time I wasn't preoccupied by something else, I thought about Methos. It was strange. We were in the middle of something much bigger than my strange reactions towards my friend, but I couldn't think about the threat Cassandra represented. Or if I did think it, it was just a fleeting thought.

It was the same that evening, when I was scrubbing the kitchen counter clean after washing the dishes. We'd managed to hold a decent conversation during the dinner, talking mostly about work, but also about very interesting subjects like the weather. It seemed like neither of us knew exactly how to deal with the other with all the unsaid things between us. Our friendship that had suffered --and survived-- many blows over the years was changing into something I didn't like. We were acting more like passing acquaintances than friends now. 

Soon the kitchen was clean, but I didn't move away from the island. I stood there, repeating all my conclusions to myself again. My reluctance to go near my friend was unnatural, and I realized that it was a remaining effect of the Quickening. I could almost hear Cassandra's Voice whispering me that I should either kill Methos, or get as far away from him as possible. I did neither. 

I was so damn tired of it! Tired of thinking about it, tired of fearing him! No matter what happened, it had to end. Now. 

"Methos?"

He raised his gaze from the book he'd been reading and glanced at me. "Yes?" His voice was perfectly calm, but his eyes were wary.

"Come here." The words were spoken through clenched teeth. 

Surprise flashed over Methos' face. "Are you sure?" He laid his book on his lap.

No, I wasn't. Actually I was on the verge of screaming. That only firmed my resolve. "Now, Methos."

He placed the heavy volume on the table, and then stood up, careful not to make any sudden movements. When he was a few feet from me, he stilled, and stood there waiting for why I'd summoned him there.

I felt a tremor run down my spine. That didn't work the way it was quite obviously meant to. The more I feared Methos, the more I wanted to overcome that fear. Me, Duncan MacLeod, afraid of an unarmed man, who had once offered me his head? A man whom I called a friend. It was _wrong_!

"Touch me."

Methos flinched at my low growl, but he didn't make a move to get any closer. "MacLeod…"

"Damn it, Methos! I'm so afraid of you I could wet myself. That's not me! That's not who I am. I'm being used, and I can't stand it anymore. _Touch me!_ "

The hazel eyes gleamed as he nodded. Then he moved his hand to clasp mine. 

That firm touch burned me, and I yanked my hand away. He let me do so without a word. 

I couldn't look him in the eyes, unwilling to face any emotion they might show. Instead, I kept staring at his hand that was still outstretched towards me. 

Long, elegant fingers, neatly trimmed nails. Strong, capable hands. I'd never really studied his hands before, but I'd noticed the way he gestured with them when he tried to explain me something, and the grace of their movements as he reached out to grab a bottle of beer.

A bottle, or a book. Not a sword. It took a moment for that thought to register in my mind. Then I took a deep breath. Those hands weren't used to hurt anyone. Not anymore. I had never felt them on my skin, tearing, bruising. That was just a long gone memory of someone who didn't really exist anymore. I'd seen those hands file some folders, organize books on shelves, change dressings on Joe's wounds. 

I raised my gaze to his face at the same moment my hand grabbed his. This time I didn't let the panic get a hold on me again. The touch of his hand was firm, even if a little clammy. No wonder. My palms were sweaty, too.

Methos was smiling an open smile. He squeezed my hand a little, and then shook it. "You okay?"

"Yes." I stepped closer to him, invading his personal space. All the fear I'd felt for days had disappeared as if it had been just a dream. There were no horrifying images in my mind now, and I didn't feel the urge to shy away from him. Instead of scaring me, his touch was strangely comforting.

"Good." There was relief in his voice.

"Do you mind if I…" It felt stupid to ask it, and instead of finishing the sentence, I wrapped my arms around him, and held him tight.

Methos chuckled softly, and then copied my actions. "Why would I mind, Highlander?"

Nothing came to mind. After all, most of the times we'd spent together, we'd sparred, and he'd sprawled on my couch, or even on occasion, on my bed. A good hug between friends wasn't much more intimate. 

"Forgive me." I whispered it so quietly I wasn't sure he'd heard me. When he squeezed me slightly, I added, "I've been acting like such a fool."

His chest heaved as he took a deep breath. "No, you haven't. Not really. You couldn't help acting like that. She made you feel fear and hatred every time you looked at me, and the fact that I'm here, alive, tells of your strength."

"I will never let anyone use me like that again." Cassandra's plan had backfired. I wasn't mad at Methos. In a way 'experiencing' what he'd been like all those long millennia ago, just made me see how different he was now. 

Methos patted my back. "I know." There was the usual humor in his voice. Damn, I'd missed it.

Grinning, I let out an offended snort I knew made him roll his eyes. 

The silence stretched out, and I noticed, that instead of relaxing, the man in my arms was getting tense. Methos' grip on my waist loosened, but as he tried to inch away from me, I refused to let him go. 

"Mac?"

I shook my head, almost hitting his nose with my chin. "Not yet."

A slight sigh was the only answer I got. It didn't seem like Methos resented the idea, so I rested my head on his shoulder.

It was strangely peaceful to stand there like that with him. 

Finally I let him go. It was odd to look into his face without having tremors of fear run down my spine. His expression was serious, but there was a soft look in his eyes. Methos looked like a young man that way, even younger than he had in Paris with his grad student façade. He gave the air of innocence somehow. 

The man was truly a mystery. A healer and a killer. Someone who had helped me save my soul by believing in me, but who had also shattered all my illusions with one perfectly calculated speech. Who was the real Methos?

"Methos…" I didn't know how to phrase that question.

He seemed to understand me anyway. There was amusement in his eyes now. "What you see is what you get. Remember, Highlander?"

I did. God knows I did. 

* * *

Even my subconscious seemed to be all right with Methos. I slept that night really well. 

It was heavenly not to have to worry about his whereabouts all the time. When he came to grab the orange juice from the fridge as I fried the eggs, I didn't even start as he bumped into me. That casual contact only made me smile.

He smiled right back. God, how I'd missed that!

We spent the whole day home, not really doing anything. We talked a little, but mostly we just _were_. My friend wanted to watch 'Life of Brian', and we spent the quiet Sunday afternoon watching TV. Methos sprawled on the couch, as usual, but instead of perching on the chair like it was my habit, I sat right next to him. 

Sitting next to the embodiment of world's oldest twisted sense of humor was definitely an event on itself. I spent half the time watching Methos instead of the movie. He squirmed, twitched and laughed out loud. The first time he collapsed against me, he jerked away immediately. After an apologizing glance at me, he continued watching the TV screen, and the next time he turned into a laughing pile of goo, he let himself collapse on me without any sign of doing it self-consciously.

I didn't know about Brian's, but my life couldn't have gotten any better.

Another morning, another working day. It was actually strange to leave for work. Methos didn't have classes until that afternoon, so I left him sleeping on the couch. Well, actually he was trying to sleep. The annoyed mumbling about some people being too damn perky in the morning told me that he wasn't exactly sleeping anymore. Or maybe he just spoke in his sleep. 

I spotted him in the cafeteria at lunch time, grinning at him as I saw him sitting at a side by table with some of our colleagues. Apparently he'd thought it was better to come there early and have 'breakfast' there than to cook for himself. I went to get a sandwich, and then walked back to the table. 

Since Methos was in the middle of a conversation, I didn't bother to say anything. I just sat there, enjoying his company. 

When my classes were finished, I waited for him, and we went shopping together. We had a good natured argument about the dinner, and then reached a compromise. Everything was almost disgustingly perfect.

I didn't mind, though. 

The next day we went straight to Joe's after work. It was a silent agreement. My Watcher had been worried about us. It was only proper that we went to tell him about our newly reclaimed friendship. 

That first perfect day had been just for the two of us. Now it was time to really rejoin the world.

And as my friend said, we really needed a drink.

Joe looked really baffled when we entered the bar side by side. I almost laughed as his eyes widened when I actually touched Methos' shoulder. 

"Well, seems to me everything's all right again." My Watcher smiled happily at us. 

"It would seem so, now wouldn't it?" Methos sounded mournful. "Actually, there is one little thing missing." He eyed at a man drinking beer at a table.

Chuckling, Joe reached for a glass. "You really do have a one track mind." Keeping his eye on the foam, he filled the glass, and then handed it to the old man. "Happy now?"

"Never been happier."

I eased myself on a barstool, smiling at my Watcher as he motioned towards a bottle. "Yeah, I guess I could have one." But just one. Now that I didn't have Methos to worry about, I was once again thinking about the circumstances that had led to the mistrust between us. As long as there might be people coming after us, getting tipsy would be suicidal.

After giving me a beer, too, Joe leaned on the counter. "I finally managed to get some information about Cassandra's Watcher this morning. A friend of mine faxed me her last report."

"What?" I lowered my glass before even taking the first sip. "Where is she?" 

"If you mean the Watcher, she's in New York. That's where Cassandra was last seen. But for Cassandra herself... No one knows."

That meant that unless some other Watcher spotted her --which was pretty unlikely, since it was impossible for all of them to recognize her from sight-- we wouldn't be able to find her. Not by using the Watchers, anyway. Damn. 

Methos put a hand on my arm. "You knew it was a long shot, Mac. We'll have to handle this ourselves." 

His words made me smile, even though I didn't really have all _that_ much to be happy about. We. We had to handle this. Not he. Leaning against his touch, I muttered, "Yeah. I guess so."

Sipping my drink I prayed it would really be that easy.

* * *

It was probably the most peaceful week we had that fall. 

There were no more bouts of terror, or flashbacks from that awful Quickening. It seemed that the firm touch of Methos' hand had truly banished all the nightmares. Nevertheless, I found myself looking for his company many times a day, somehow needing to be near him. 

Of course there were the evenings spent at the loft. It was relaxing to sit on the couch next to Methos, reading, or watching TV. 

It was strange how living together with Methos once again changed my perception of the old man. Yes, we'd been living under the same roof for almost two months by then, but only after I'd put the after effects of the Quickening behind me, it started to feel like we were really living together. His presence had already changed my life, but the closeness we shared that week showed me how much our time together had changed him. Or maybe made him lower some of the walls he'd built around his true self.

The signs of the utter --and clearly chosen-- loneliness and aloofness he usually carried with himself were now gone. As well as the feeling that he'd be packing his bags and leaving the town the minute he got into a trouble. I saw glimpses of Methos the charmer at work, but he was completely relaxed when we were at home. 

Didn't mean that he became less lazy or less sarcastic, though. I didn't really mind. A docile Methos would have been a bit of a disappointment.

Definitely a thought I would never share with him. 

Somehow it was easy to be around Methos now that I'd spent days watching his movements, dodging him every time he came within an arm's reach of me. At first, closeness and physical contact was somewhat awkward. I didn't mind him touching me, but Methos seemed a little hesitant touching me. So I made sure _I_ touched _him_. 

In a few days the last traces of the hesitancy went away. In its place, there was warmth I hadn't felt for a long time. 

People don't really understand how much the world had changed since I'd been a wee lad. Our lives were less sophisticated then, yes, but we were more honest with showing our feelings towards each other. Living in a closely-knit clan, I'd been used to having people I cared about nearby. That meant that I'd also been used to the pats on the back, hugs, and occasional punches from my clansmen. It was a simple form of communication. When words weren't enough.

My friend didn't say anything, but he sometimes seemed amused when I hovered near him. It annoyed the hell out of him when I sneaked from behind to read over his shoulder, but otherwise he didn't seem to mind my sudden closeness. 

I thought about it, and realized that there was nothing new in my behavior. Well, maybe it was now more emphasized that earlier, but I'd always been relaxed around good friends.

His first words to me were true the other way around, too. When I invited someone to live with me, no matter if they were a friend or a lover, my house was their house. My home their home.

So we spent that week in an almost domestic bliss.

That Friday was the payday, and we decided to have a little dinner party. We usually did something special on paydays, even though neither Methos nor I needed the money. This time we decided to have the 'party' on Thursday, to make it safer. Neither one of us was willing to risk having friends around at the end of the week. There were still people out there, after Methos' head. I didn't want any mortal to get caught between a hunter and him.

It was more like a family dinner than a party. Joe was the only real friend in town, so it was just the three of us. We could have asked our colleagues, but I didn't feel comfortable of holding up any kind of wall that evening. Joe knew exactly what we were. There was no need to pretend around him. 

Methos tried to squirm out of cooking by paying for everything we'd have. I told him he'd either help me with the vegetables, or he'd have to wash the dishes. It took less than ten seconds for him to get a hold on the knife and the carrots.

I busied myself with the main course, moving around the kitchen island. Trying really hard not to spoil the relaxed mood by laughing at him.

When I passed him by again, I let my hand brush against his back, letting it linger there a little longer than usually. Methos shot a questioning look at me, but I just smiled at him. I really needed that touch. 

It was strange how soothing it was to be able to do that. I'd never been overly physical with him, but now I found myself enjoying to have him close by. Touching him was a way to reassure both of us of the fact that everything was all right. 

Joe appeared a few minutes before the dinner was ready, and we all had a glass of wine before eating. We'd agreed earlier that it was the night for relaxation, not business, and we spent the whole evening talking about all those rather insignificant things in life. Not a word was said about other Immortals.

The quiet evening helped both me and Methos go through Friday. Both of us were jumpy all day. It was impossible to concentrate on anything, especially at work. The evening wasn't much better. I kept thinking about what would happen if there really was another hunter. Neither one of us was prepared to take another one of those painful messages. 

Thank God my worries were unnecessary. There were no signs of hunters that day. 

Still, we both held our swords near by. Even at the loft. I didn't take my katana to bed, though. The floor was close enough for me. 

It must have taken me more than an hour to fall asleep. 

* * *

I'd realized early on that autumn that I couldn't really handle the dojo and my work at the same time, and there had been the surprisingly difficult decision to make. In the end, I'd decided to close the dojo for the rest of the year. Considering how things went with Methos, it had been a good decision.

All the equipment was still there, though, and I indulged myself that weekend, spending hours exercising down there. There's nothing quite as cathartic as a really hard exercise.

My friend didn't seem to share my opinion. We did spar for a few times, but he spent most of his time upstairs, reading. That didn't bother me at all. That way I could enjoy getting really sweaty in peace. 

After a quick shower, I strolled to the loft, smiling as I saw Methos standing by the kitchen island, wiping off some crumbs. He'd apparently fixed himself a sandwich, and decided that it was easier to clean up the mess he'd made than to listen to me nag about it. 

Dropping my towel, I dove inside the closet, selecting myself something loose and comfortable to wear. When I'd finished dressing, I picked the towel up, sighing as I realized Methos' sloppy manners were rubbing into me, too. At least there wasn't much water on the floor. Glowering at my friend's back, I carried the towel back to the bathroom. 

My eyes went back to my friend as I padded to the loft again, and I raised up an eyebrow. Methos looked usually pretty relaxed, but now I could see his whole body was tense. 

"I think you need a good work out." Laying my hands on his shoulders, I could feel all his muscles tighten even more. I thought he could also use a good massage. That kind of tension would just give him a cramp or muscle spasms.

Methos spun around. His eyes burned, as he snapped, "What I need is space, MacLeod! Would you please stop acting like we're joined at the hip and give me some room here!"

"Sorry." I really was. "I didn't realize that I was annoying you. I'm sorry."

Rubbing the side of his face, the old man sighed. "You don't annoy me. I just can't handle this kind of closeness with you. That's all."

Now I was both hurt _and_ confused. "Is something bothering you?" I suddenly thought about the one thing I'd completely ignored before. Methos had had an apartment and a whole life on his own. Maybe he really _wanted_ to live on his own, and it had nothing to do with his desire to leave. It couldn't have been easy to just put his independence aside and start playing home with me. "Listen, I know you don't want to stay here all the time but I really think that it's the safest…"

"MacLeod!" Methos snorted. He shook his head. "It's not about staying here, and it's not about Cassandra." 

So it had to be the most obvious reason. "So it's me. You can't stand my presence?" Oh, God how I hated the way that sounded. Like a hurt child.

He looked thoughtful for a moment. Like he was thinking of what explanation would be the easiest for him to give. Or me to hear.

"Just tell me the truth. I can take it." 

The hazel eyes squinted dangerously. "Fine." Methos' body relaxed as he lowered himself on the couch in that familiar sprawl. "I don't think it's such a good idea for us to stay this close all the time. You might find out something you're not really ready to face."

"Like what?" His phrasing just spiked my curiosity.

"MacLeod. What do you think about when you touch me?" He raised his eyebrow. "Friendship? The fact that after all we've gone through, you can still stand me in the same room? That you can now touch me without wanting to slug me? That as your friend I deserve an occasional pat on the back?"

I cocked my head. "All of them." If he was being honest, I could be honest, too.

"Precisely. Anything else?"

After thinking about that for a moment, I shook my head. That was really all I thought. All I allowed myself to think, actually.

Methos smiled sadly. "When you touch me, I think about the same things. But I also think about you. How good it feels to have you so close to me. And how much better it would be to have you even closer."

My mind went blank. I just stood there, blinking. He couldn't be saying what I thought he just said. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me right. I'm not made of stone, Highlander. I like being here with you, but the more friendly you get, the more it starts to get to me. I've never denied the fact that I find you attractive. It's hard for me not to react to your closeness when we're living together like this." 

"It's hard for you to not react. All right." It was still impossible to process his words. Every thought had just escaped my head, leaving me to repeat his words inanely. He found me attractive?

Methos nodded. "You touch me. I want to touch you more. It's quite simple. If you'd touched me one more time, I would have probably scared the hell out of you by kissing you."

That certainly got my attention. Methos wanting to kiss me? Since when? And why didn't I find the idea all that disgusting? "You… You _want_ me?"

"Please! You know as well as I do, that there has always been an attraction between us." He said it calmly, as if he was talking about the weather. "If your life were less hectic, we would have ended up in bed together a long time ago."

"Methos!" I spluttered.

The hazel eyes locked into mine. "I’m just saying it out loud. You don’t have to say you want me if that goes against some rule of yours, but I think we should both know where we stand. After all, you're the one who insisted us to be honest with each other." He sounded sincere as he said it, no mockery in his voice to indicate that he was once again baiting me.

Wanting to object, I opened my mouth, and then closed it again. There was nothing I could say. All the looks, the touches. The worrying. He was right. It may have been hidden somewhere deep inside of me, but I _did_ see him as a desirable person. I saw him as a friend, but I also wanted him. Wanted his body. 

Suddenly some of the things that had happened between the two of us seemed to make a lot more sense than they had just minutes earlier.

"I know this is the worst possible time for this conversation. Neither of us can handle such relationship right now. Maybe when this whole thing is over, we could discuss about it." Methos got up and walked to me. He squeezed my arm and then let go, heading towards the fridge. 

I watched him get himself a bottle of beer. He seemed to think that the conversation was over. A part of me agreed with him, the part that thought that the less we talked about any physical thing between us, the better. I was definitely not ready for anything more than a simple \--well, relatively simple, that is-- friendship with Methos. Not now. Not yet, maybe not ever. And I didn't feel comfortable at the thought of processing this with him.

If honesty hadn't been so important right then, I might have even listened to that part of myself that told me to just ignore his words and let it be. 

Sighing, I shook my head. Of all the times we'd had the chance of talking about this, why now? As if our lives weren't complicated enough. "No. I think we need to have that discussion right now."

That surprised him. I could see that in his eyes. "What?"

"I mean it, Methos. We have to talk about it now, or we'll probably never talk about it." There were things that couldn't be left unsaid. This whole attraction was such a thing. Silence would lead to awkwardness, and I'd had enough of that to last a mortal lifetime. I never wanted to face such silence we'd had just a week earlier.

"And you'd rather talk about it?" The mockery was now evident in his voice. "You surprise me, Highlander."

He was trying to annoy me. I'd fallen to that too many times for it to work now. "Life is full of surprises. Live with it. Now stop trying to distract me, and level with me. We already admitted that we want each other. You said that I can't handle physical intimacy with you, and you're probably right. Now what?" 

Methos stared at me, totally shocked. "You _what_?"

I wasn't sure what he meant with that. Somehow I didn't think he was questioning my need to talk about it. "Methos?"

He placed the bottle on the table. His hand shook a little, and the bottle made a clattering sound as it contacted the wooden surface. "Give me a minute here." Still looking a little stunned, he got up and walked to the window. He stood there for some time, and when he continued, he didn't turn his gaze off the street. "I should apologize. What I said… I didn't know you'd really... It was just a way to get you off balance."

That made sense. I was really surprised that he'd say that, though. "So will you?" Feeling a twinge of disappointment, I waited for his answer.

"Apologize? No. I meant every word."

I wanted to tease him a little, but somehow I couldn't. It wasn't a moment for our usual bantering. The way he acted clearly told that whatever there was between us that went beyond friendship, it was more than a physical thing for him. Not just simple lust.

My life hadn't always been hectic. If he was really interested only in my body, he would have made his move long before now. The memory of us both staggering to the barge from Gina and Robert's wedding came to mind. Methos had been really quiet that night, curling on my couch without even wishing me sweet dreams. I'd thought it was because of the amount of liquor we'd both consumed at the party. Now I began to suspect it had more to do with his self-control. 

Other images popped up in my mind. Yes, there had been plenty of occasions when he could have tried to change a simple dinner or a quiet evening into a seduction scene. 

I thought I knew the reason why he had never approached the subject before. He needed my friendship. I hadn't been drawn to a man for years, not since I was nothing more than a boy, and he probably thought that physical undercurrents would have disturbed the friendship. 

For a second I wondered why he was bringing it up now. Then I realized that he had no choice. His body had reacted to my closeness. The only way to make sure we wouldn't start acting like strangers was for him to explain that reaction and hope for the best.

"I'd still like to have an answer to my question. What do we do now?" After years of dancing around the whole thing, it suddenly felt relieving to be able to talk about it.

Methos shrugged. "I don't think we should do anything. Let's just see what happens when this whole thing with Cassandra is over. I might want to leave for a while. You might want me to leave."

"And in the meanwhile?" 

Turning his head so that I could see the smile on his face, he answered, "In the meanwhile, we'll just go on the way we always have."

I nodded slowly. That was probably the best way to handle it anyway. After all, nothing had really changed. 

Except that I'd try to keep my hands off him from now on, that is.

Leaving Methos to sit on the couch, I went to the kitchen to make myself a light snack. As I bent down to pick up a spoon I'd dropped, I couldn't help laughing quietly at the thought of Methos checking out my arse. It just didn't sound like him. Or me, neither. 

Sure, I found him attractive, but like I said, I hadn't really thought about him or his body like that. Not all that much, anyway. So what if we were now being honest about whatever chemistry there was between us? It wasn't like we would have to do anything about it. 

Satisfied that the matter was now closed, I went to grab a piece of lettuce from the fridge.

* * *

To be perfectly honest, I did think about his words that night. 

It was only natural. It's not every day you find out that your friend has fantasies about your body. It's not every day you realize that you really _do_ have interest in your friend's body.

I never thought I'd lie to myself like that. After all, now that I was thinking about it, I had to admit this whole attraction thing wasn't all that recent. Sure, I'd noticed his body before. I wasn't blind. And I liked spending time with him. It had never occurred to me that we could be more than friends, though.

Maybe it was because I was so used to having close male friends that were nothing more than friends. Or then they were some kinds of mentors. Or protégés. My friendship with Methos was truly unique.

As the week ended and another begun, we continued living. Nothing was mentioned of our conversation, but I was sure we both thought about it. It wasn't exactly a subject that could be shrugged off.

I didn't think about it all the time, though. I did have work to do. As an antiques dealer --not to mention an Immortal-- I had a keen insight and vast knowledge about art throughout history. Still, there's no way I could ever remember everything, so I had to refresh my memory when we were dealing with an era I hadn't studied all that much recently. Or an era I hadn't lived in.

Hauling an armload of history books to the loft on Monday, I warned Methos not to interrupt me when I was preparing for my big lecture the next day. He faked a frightened look, muttering, "Yes, Master." Then he turned the TV on, and didn't say another word before dinner.

It was quite stunning that he could actually behave.

The next evening we had a long conversation about the lecture I'd given. The main topic had been the Attican art in the 4th century BC, and especially Praksiteles' sculptings. At first we discussed about the subject, then we had an argument. After about a half an hour of sulking, I asked him to be so good to enlighten me of how things really went back then, since he seemed to have such strong opinions about the whole matter.

Methos was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed, mumbling about educating the young ones, and started telling me about the times he'd visited Greece around Praksiteles' era. 

I sat there on the couch, a bit stunned of how easily I'd gotten him to talk about his past. Then it was impossible to think about anything but his story as he painted me a scene after scene of the real life of the ancient Greeks. I don't think neither of us paid any attention to the fact that he strayed from our main topic not long after he started with his story. 

It was strange, but nice. He would get all enthusiastic about something, and I'd be there to listen to his outrageous little tales and metaphors, smiling at him. 

Later, when we ate a very late dinner, I couldn't help feeling good about the fact that we'd been able to talk for hours about things past without getting near any painful topics. I also realized I'd missed Methos' stories. Sure, some of them were obviously exaggerated, but the fact that he'd share them with me was one more proof of his trust in me. 

I didn't tell him about it, but on Wednesday, I made my students have a debate about my lecture, giving them some of the details Methos had told me the previous evening. It was fantastic. Those were the occasions I could really see young minds at work. They had some interesting theories, some of which I had never thought about myself. 

As a thank you to Methos, I told him that drinks at Joe's were on me that evening. The old man looked at me suspiciously, asking what I was up to now. I just smiled at him innocently.

Joe looked happy to see us. Perhaps because of that relaxed dinner we'd had the previous week. We chatted about everyday life as he poured us drinks, the mood surprisingly peaceful.

Of course it couldn't last.

"I've had a confirmed information from a colleague that there are more young Immortals missing." My Watcher looked regretful as he turned the conversation to business. "He thinks it's possible that some of them have joined Cassandra."

Lowering my glass, I took a glance at Methos. He looked pensive. "So this might be escalating?"

"I never doubted that." My friend sounded weary.

Joe nodded. "From what I've read about her, I'd say I'm not surprised either. She has a reputation of being quite stubborn." He didn't add the fact that when he'd seen her, she had already been burned by the hatred towards her ancient tormentors.

It was something I didn't want to say out loud either. "I know. I still find it inconceivable that she's using the youngsters as her means of revenge."

Methos opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it. Apparently we were once again heading towards the topic he rather stayed away from.

Glancing at Methos, Joe cleared his throat. "You must remember the fact that she's not only mad at Methos. She's also..." At that point he silenced, and continued only after the old man gave him a curt nod. "She's also hurting. All the things that happened last year must have brought back memories to her, and she's now trying to make those memories go away by getting rid of you." Another knowing look at Methos. "I'd say the mere fact that you're still alive is causing her pain."

I grimaced. He was right, but there was more. "And she knows Methos staying with me. I think that must hurt her even more." She'd wanted to behead him in Bordeaux, even though he'd just saved her life. I asked her to let him live, and she had. I could only imagine how she must regret that decision. 

With her prophecy about the Solstice child, I had been her knight in a shining armor. The fact that I was not rushing to slay Methos for her probably felt like a betrayal. 

"And now she's determined to make you both regret it." Joe nodded.

I'd already figured that out. But I was also determined _not_ to fall into Cassandra's trap. I refused to regret the fact that I'd befriended the old man. The last years of my life had been full of sorrow and personal losses, but I wasn't going to categorize Methos under one of those. 

"She can try, but she won't succeed in that." My voice was firm. "At least she won't succeed with me."

For the first time since the conversation began, Methos turned to look at me. There was that incredibly soft look in his eyes again as he smiled. "You're right, MacLeod. She will not succeed."

Joe looked from him to me, a strange smile playing at his lips. Then he nodded. I had no idea of what that was all about.

"If you hear more about the Immortals, would you..." I left it hanging there, knowing that he would understand. And knowing the answer even before he nodded again.

We returned to the safer topics after that. 

Sitting there by the counter, we listened to Joe singing a few songs, and then watched people dance as the band played. A young woman asked Methos to dance, and he went after a strange look thrown at me. I noticed that the waitress who'd so painfully obviously had a crush on my friend for months now looked annoyed. Poor girl. Both of them, really. Lusting after a handsome man with whom they didn't have a prayer.

I smiled, taking a sip from my glass. Then I almost choked as I recognized the smugness of my thoughts. My God! I was actually finding the whole situation amusing because of the fact that I knew that Methos was indeed attracted to me. 

My gaze went to my friend, and I watched him sway with the woman. Feeling silly, I wondered if I'd be staring at them with the undisguised jealousy next, like the waitress. 

The whole thought was so hilarious, I just shook my head, and then turned to chat with Joe again. 

It was a fine evening, almost perfect for a walk. But instead of taking a little stroll, we drove to the loft. It was much safer that way, with dozens of dark alleyways and a few warehouses between the bar and my home. They were almost perfect places for an ambush, and I just couldn't risk it. Strange, how I felt completely safe at home, though. I seriously doubted anyone would attack us there. 

Methos was unusually quiet. Maybe he thought about Joe's words just like I did. We'd talked about less painful things, but his early comments were still ringing in my head. As well as was my reaction to them. I didn't regret being Methos' friend, and I was fairly sure he didn't regret being mine. But talking about regrets in general, I wondered if he had any. Sure, he'd used the word when describing Cassandra, but did he really feel remorse for all his actions?

I stopped at the lights, and then blurted out the question without a second thought. "Do you? Still regret all those things you once did, I mean."

"MacLeod…"

"I'm just curious." Glancing at him, I smiled, and then continued driving as the lights turned green. "I… I've been thinking about it, especially after having to face my own past." 

That made Methos sigh. "And do _you_ regret your past?"

I should have expected him to ask that. Did I? Yes. Well, maybe. Sometimes. Didn't I? "I honestly don't know. You?"

"No." There was no doubt in his voice. "I did those things a long time ago, Mac, and brooding over them won't change a thing."

"Oh?" A kind of challenge, I guess. Somehow I couldn't believe he was telling me the truth.

Methos snorted. "I forgot whom I was talking to. You have yourself and Darius as examples of how to deal with killing people. Well, I'm not like you two. I don't seek redemption. Who could redeem me anyway? Some deity I don't believe in? Some 'holy' man, who's a hundred times younger than me? No, Duncan. I either live with my past, or I can go and hand my head on a plate to the next Immortal I come across."

I was stunned. For some reason I'd never thought of it that way. "So you don't think about the past? Ever?" No matter how hard he'd try to convince me, I'd never believe that.

"I didn't say that. I do think about all the things that happened centuries ago. Reminiscing. Not brooding." 

His words earned him a glare which he ignored completely. 

After a moment of silence, he continued, his voice softer and quieter. "Wallowing in self pity and remorse, seeking for redemption, is the loneliest thing in the world, Duncan. I can't do that. Trying to act like some repentant soul of the Immortality is just like acting according to the myth people think I am. It would put me outside humanity." A gentle smile formed on his lips. "And I don't want that. I've never wanted that."

His words made me swallow hard. Yes, even though I hadn't seen millennia roll by, I knew what he was talking about. We all needed a cause to survive. Some had the hunger for power. Amanda had her petty theft. I had my need to fight for just causes. But Methos… I wasn't sure what his was, except a big part of it had to do with belonging. Maybe not with someone, but rather with something. 

It wasn't easy for me to face the fact that I had once accused him of being outside humanity. Of setting himself above all things that had to do with love, mercy and compassion. 

To lighten the mood, I said, "Well, you surely don't need to worry about being alone now. After all, you have me to nag at you."

"I do?" Methos said the words like a question. Then he gave a deep chuckle, one of pure contentment. "Yes, I guess I do."

I loved hearing his laughter again. It was a sound I hadn't heard for ages. I guess neither of us had much reason to laugh for those days. 

We sat there in silence as I continued driving, and for the first time since the whole mess has started, I allowed myself to think of what would really happen if Cassandra wouldn't back off. Sooner or later she would have to come and face her enemy herself. What then? Methos hadn't been able to challenge Kronos. Would he be able, or willing, to challenge Cassandra?

"I..." I cleared my throat, the weight of the whole matter making it hard for me to even begin the sentence. "I've been thinking."

That was as far as I got, when there was a sound like a muffled burst of laughter echoing in the car. I glowered at Methos, who did his best to look innocent. For some reason his slip to our old routine made me feel better, though. 

"Like I was saying, I've thought about what happens when we finally meet her." I didn't have to clarify of whom I was talking about. There was no sign of laughter on the expressive face. "And I've been wondering if I should..."

Before I could finish the sentence --or even the thought-- Methos shook his head. "No. Even if you could take her Quickening, which I seriously doubt, she'd make you hate yourself for it. I know that." He was quiet for a moment. "But I can't kill her either."

"Why?" It was not an accusation, just a question.

"When…" He gestured with his hand, that helpless little move tearing my heart. "She was my innocence. When I had no mercy or love, she was those things for me. I know she has changed from those days, just as I have, but even so, I can't kill her."

I touched his arm. Just a soft brush of my fingers against his sweater. I wanted to tell him how his words made me feel, but there was no way for me to say it. No phrase or platitude could convey it, so I settled with the light touch. 

Somber hazel eyes met my gaze. "We'll just have to see what happens when that day comes."

His words shocked me. Methos, the worlds oldest strategist was leaving everything to chance? "Shouldn't we at least have some kind of a plan?"

"You want us to make a plan?" Pausing for me to nod, he then shook his head. "In that case, you're heading towards the wrong direction." His voice was dead serious.

"What do you mean?" I almost hit the breaks. Did he know something I didn't?

"The bar's back where we came from." Methos grinned. "Haven't you noticed that every time we need to make a decision of some importance, we go to Joe for advice?"

That was preposterous! "We do not!" I spluttered, and then blushed as I realized that he was absolutely right. I also recognized the joke as a decision to change the subject, and even though I didn't think we could stay away from that subject for long, I spent the rest of the drive bantering with my friend. 

* * *

Methos didn't have any classes that Thursday. Of course I'd known it would happen sooner or later. We couldn't spend the whole semester together at work. Still, it was really hard for me to leave home that morning. A few weeks earlier it would have been bliss not to have to worry about him stalking me at the university. Now I was worried someone would be there to stalk him.

I still didn't think anyone would actually break into my home, but if Methos decided to go outside, who knew what would happen.

When I voiced some of my fears, I got a resigned sigh from my friend. 

"Do you want another demonstration of my fighting skills?" Methos quirked up his eyebrow, one hand reaching for his sword by the couch, the other moving inside his shirt, probably for a gun or a knife. 

Feeling a little foolish, I raised my hands in surrender, and then left for work, telling him to have a good time while I was gone.

The day wasn't all that bad, considering the fact that half of my attention was far away from Rembrandt. I really tried, but I couldn't stop thinking about Methos alone at the loft. He was probably completely safe, would have been even if he'd been walking on the back alleys of Seacouver's sleaziest blocks. After all, he did have all those years of practice behind him. And he was the most devious person I knew. 

It was probably instincts. I was involved with this, and it was really hard not to act over- protectively. I wasn't all that sure it had anything to do with my upbringing, though. It was more about friendship. I wasn't all that convinced he wouldn't do the same for me. 

To make it perfectly clear to him that I wasn't trying to mother him, I stopped at the store on my way home. I spent about a quarter of an hour shopping for beer and other necessities. 

When I finally got back home, I was greeted by the smell of food. I laughed when I saw the pizza boxes, but accepted it as an example of Methos style cooking. The whole evening was peaceful. Greasy food and beer did wonders to our mood, and when it was time to go to bed, I crawled between the blankets with a smile on my face.

* * *

The problem with a pop quiz is that if you're the one holding it, you have to work overtime to grade the papers later on. Methos had some paperwork, too, and since we didn't have any hurry, we stayed at the university until the security guard came to wish us a good weekend. 

I glanced at the clock, a bit stunned how quickly time had passed. Who the hell worked until eight p.m. on Friday? Two silly Immortals, apparently.

"You think we should go to Joe's?" We hadn't been to the bar for a day or so. Maybe Joe had some new information for us. 

Methos nodded, smiling a little. "I think we've deserved it. My treat." 

Well, now. That was definitely something I wouldn't say no to. Besides, he was right. We did deserve some time out. 

Fred, the security guard motioned towards the side exit, muttering something about having already locked up the main entrance. He kept glowering at the two of us as he escorted us out. That was odd. I wondered if there was yet another rumor circulating around the staff. 

It didn't matter. Or more precisely, I didn't really care. I just wanted to go to see my Watcher, relax, and maybe...

Oh, God! And maybe kick myself in the arse for forgetting what day it was. 

I cursed myself as I felt the second Presence approach us. The other hunters had appeared at the end of the week. Why the hell had I not been prepared for this?

Fred had already locked the door behind us, and disappeared somewhere in the vast building. There was no way we could get inside, and even if we could, there was no guarantee that it would be any safer inside. 

The only intelligent move was to try to make a run for my car. 

"You!" The accusing word rang in the little alley, not a deep voice of an angry man. 

I glanced at the other Immortal, swallowing hard as I saw an attractive young woman standing there, holding out a gun that was pointed at my friend. So much for running. Damn it! Cassandra knew that I hated fighting against women! It was clear that was the reason for sending this girl against Methos.

"You _will_ fight against me, monster, or I will shoot you and then take your head." The woman didn't take her eyes away from him, as she addressed me, "MacLeod. You can walk away. My quarrel is not with you."

"It's not with him either! Can't you see that this is wrong?"

She didn't say anything else to me. "So, Methos. Draw your sword."

My friend didn't move. It was clear that he didn't want her head and everything that came with it. I couldn't blame him after experiencing one of those nightmares myself.

"Then die!"

I moved in front of Methos, but that didn’t stop the woman from firing her gun. Something hit me and a second later a white hot agony pierced my chest. My bones seemed to turn into liquid and I stumbled against Methos.

"Damn!" He groaned, half with annoyance, half with pain. 

Looking up at him, I saw him press a bloody wound on his shoulder with his left hand. His right hand was pulling a gun from under his coat. So the bullet had two names on it. The thought made me laugh, the sound coming out of my mouth just a gurgle, as blood trickled down my chin. I knew I was dying, the dizzy feeling just the final indication of it. 

Another shot was fired, and then everything went blank.

* * *

The exact moment of revival is always the worst. When you’re disoriented for a fraction of a second, not knowing where you are, and even if you’re still really alive or did someone manage to take your head while you were gone. That time was no different from the others. The fact that I wasn’t lying on the alley I had died at certainly didn't help. 

Feeling a Presence, I squirmed, anxiety coursing through me as I realized that I could barely move. My flailing hands grabbed the restraints that held me against a soft seat. Only after frantic fumbling I recognized the restraints as the seatbelt of a car. 

I blinked rapidly, finally getting a good look on my surroundings, and relaxed. The interior of the car was familiar, as well as the man sitting at the driver’s seat.

"What happened?" I managed to gasp when the cramps had passed and my lungs once again worked normally.

Methos glanced at me and then returned his attention to the road. "She shot us, I shot her. Then I grabbed you and we left the scene."

"And the headhunter?"

There was a brief silence. Then he shrugged. "Still in the alley, I guess." 

I shuddered. It had been a close call. If Methos hadn't had a gun, we could very well be both dead. "You saved my life back there. Thank you."

The only answer I got was a little grunt. It made me sigh again. No matter how many times the old man had joked about me being the world's number one brooder, he could be quite good at it himself. 

I leaned back, and closed my eyes. My chest hurt still, and I was feeling a little groggy after my revival. Since my friend didn't want to talk, I thought I could get some rest.

When we finally got home, we went straight up to the loft. As the door closed behind me, Methos walked to the bathroom without a word. Soon I could hear the sounds of a shower.

I stood in the middle of the room for a moment, feeling confused. Something had scared my friend, I was certain of it. He wouldn't have acted like that otherwise. Had something happened that he hadn't told me about yet? I didn't know how to ask him about it, though, and after a while, I went to search through the cabinets for oil to clean my sword.

Methos was uncharacteristically quiet that evening. After taking a long shower, he spent some time in the kitchen, making himself a bowl of soup. When his meal was ready, he went to the couch with his plate, and spent the whole evening there. Still not saying a word.

Even though his behavior worried me, I didn't ask him anything. I thought it was enough for me to be there. He'd talk to me if he wanted to, and if he didn't want to, he'd just get mad at me if I got too nosy.

I gave him some privacy, finally catching up with my paperwork down at the dojo and then going through some exercises. It felt good to feel the sweat run down my back as I jumped robe. My brush with death earlier that day had made me jittery, and I really needed to feel that I was fit enough to face any enemy.

When I got back upstairs, Methos was already asleep, lying on the couch with the blanket up to his face. I tried to make as little noise as possible as I grabbed a shower and changed into my pajama pants. Then, when I didn't feel like reading or watching TV, I went to bed. 

My mind was too much in turmoil for me to get any sleep. I couldn't help worrying about what would happen next. It was clear that Cassandra's plan was escalating. First just headhunters, now a young woman. My God, I didn't even want to think of what would happen when none of her underlings succeeded. I should talk about it with Methos and Joe, so that we'd be prepared to face anything or anyone she sent.

Not all that cheery a thought.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Just when exactly had my life became a tragedy? This was like a war. No, worse than war, in a way. There were casualties, but you couldn't fight back properly, since you never knew who was the enemy. If only we knew where Cassandra was. Then I could try to talk her out of her senseless revenge.

Damn, it was so frustrating not to be able to do anything! I wanted to go searching for her, but I knew that unless she wanted to be found, I'd never find her. 

Wiping my face with my hand, I sighed. 

Since I couldn't get any sleep, I got up and padded quietly to the window. I needed some fresh air, and it wasn't too cold yet to open a window for a while, even in the middle of the night. I breathed deeply, enjoying the cool breeze on my face. The night air cleared my head, and even though nothing had changed, I felt a little better. 

After closing the window, I glanced around the room, watching the shadows and the faint light that shone from outside make strange patterns on the wall. There was no sound at the loft, but something bothered me still. The feeling of unease had returned the second I closed the window. 

I walked closer to Methos. "Are you awake?" 

He didn’t say anything, but now I was sure something was wrong with him.

I crossed the distance between the couch and me and then looked at the man lying there. What I saw made me flinch. Methos was curled on his side, holding his right fist on his lips, biting down hard on the flesh on the side of his index finger as his whole body shook with silent sobs. His eyes were squeezed shut, but tears still managed to pour down his cheeks. 

"Methos? What is it?" Leaving him there alone wasn’t an option. Secrets would only ruin everything, the friendship I was desperately trying to hold on to.

When my friend didn’t answer, I walked around the couch and knelt before him. "Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out now. What is it?"

Slowly, the hazel eyes opened, tears still glistening on the long lashes. The look in those eyes was full of agony. Methos moved a little, and my arms went around him instinctively. I felt him return the embrace, and as his hand left his mouth, a harsh keening sound filled the loft. I held him closer, fighting back my own tears at that raw, desperate sound. There was so much pain in that wail, more than I’d ever felt. I was certain of that.

I also knew the reason for it. 

Shifting my position a little, I raised my hand to the back of his head, petting him and trying to soothe him. Needing to be there for him, to let him know nothing would drive me away.

Feeling his shaking dissipate, I glanced around to see if there was anything to use as a handkerchief. There were a few tissues on the table from my earlier cleaning, and after checking that they weren’t soaked in oil, I handed them to Methos so that he could wipe his face. 

"You took her head, didn’t you?" It wasn’t a question, really, and he knew it.

He answered it anyway. "Yes. I shot her, but it wasn’t fatal. She…" My friend paused to blow his nose. Then he shrugged. "There was no other way."

I didn’t know what he expected me to do. Perhaps he thought I’d try to challenge him, or maybe accuse him for being a monster, pouring salt to the old, reopened wounds. It was certain that he hadn’t expected me to just nod and hold him even tighter. 

He squirmed a little, clearly not wanting me to protect him, or console him. "MacLeod…"

"Don’t. Just hold me." I needed his arms around me even more than I needed to hold him. "Don’t push me away." 

Whatever had happened in his past didn’t matter. That man who had killed, and enjoyed it, wasn’t the same man I was hugging. 

He sat there without responding for a moment, and then melted into my arms. His face felt damp against my T-shirt, his body almost feverishly warm, but I didn't care. I reveled in the closeness we shared that moment. It was a basic human need, something that's so rare in the modern world. A simple touch. 

I didn't want to hurt him more, but I had to ask, "What was it this time?"

Methos was quiet for a long time. Just when I thought he wouldn't answer, he sighed, "Have you ever dreamt of something that really happened, but in the dream everything went wrong?"

"Yes." I nodded. There had been nights I’d spent tossing and turning in bed, not wanting to fall asleep and see those events from Bordeaux repeat themselves over and over again in my head. They were different every time, but one thing remained the same. There was never that odd feeling of conclusion there had been in the real life. 

He sighed. "Something like that happened."

I could only imagine what it was about. My nightmares had been bad enough; Losing my head, watching Methos lose his, having to witness him join forces with Kronos against me. "You don’t have to talk about it." I knew I could never tell him about the worst dream I’d ever had, still hearing his pained voice yell, ‘You killed Kronos. I _loved_ Kronos!’ It had never happened in reality, but just the memory of that nightmare made shudder. 

"Thank you." Just a whisper, but the soft touch of his hand on my shoulder told me that he was really relieved.

"It's all right." It wasn't probably enough, but then again no words were in that situation. I squeezed him again, wondering how I could ever let go of him.

We sat there for a long time. Not saying a word, just holding each other. Then Methos' hand brushed against my neck, very much like a caress. Maybe it was meant as such. I hoped to God it was meant as more than just a friendly touch, for I answered it by nuzzling against his hand. 

"Duncan?" His words were barely audible. "My back is killing me."

It was my decision. "Let’s go to bed." I couldn't leave him on the couch alone, and to be completely honest, I didn't want to sleep alone that night either.

I walked across the room, watching him grab his pillow and then follow me. We squirmed under the covers, the warmth making me sigh contently. I settled on my back, but then thought it was a really awkward way to try relax. Rolling on my side, I noticed that Methos was already sprawled on a very comfortable looking position. It was amazing how he could act so naturally. I’d never been so self-conscious of being in bed with anyone before. "Methos?"

"What?" The word was slurred by a huge yawn.

Smiling, I shook my head, even though I knew that he couldn’t see me. "Oh, nothing." It was enough to just be there. The words could wait till morning.

"Mm hmm." There was amusement in his voice. Methos turned to face me, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. I was just about to pat his hand, when he moved even closer to me, and then brushed his lips against mine. The touch was soft, and didn’t last for more than a few seconds. Then there was a warm breath of air on my face as he yawned again. "Good night, Duncan."

He was probably asleep by the time I managed to squeeze the answer from my dry throat.

* * *

I didn't sleep all that well that night. Maybe it was the exhaustion; I was too tired to sleep. Or maybe it was the death and revival I'd experienced that evening. Most probably it was because of that little kiss, though. 

It should have freaked me out. After all, the only intimate touch I'd ever received from him had been in a nightmare. The whole reality of having him close to me, wanting me, wanting my body, should have made me disgusted or terrified. 

We'd been friends for too long for me to be shocked of that little revelation, though. During the years, I'd gotten used to Methos' flirtatious style. I'd thought it was one of his idiosyncrasies, just like his habit of trying to annoy me or the way he could consume large quantities of beer without even getting tipsy.

Remembering all the times he'd said or done something that had made me squirm with laughter, I began to slowly realize that whatever this attraction between us was, it had been building up for years. Maybe even from the first time we ever met. 

It had grown, and now… I wasn't sure. His past was still between us. As well as was my reaction to it, and then that revelation Keane brought me. 

I had killed, and he'd judged me. And the sentence had been death. Without Amanda and Methos pleading for my life, I would have been killed. Methos had killed, but how could I ever judge him? How could anyone judge him? After all, he had already judged himself, and quite obviously the sentence had been life. Life with all the memories of who he'd once been. That was a harsh sentence. 

Maybe Methos' words were true with me also. If I deemed him to be put to death for the things he had done countless of years ago, I would have to do the same for me, too. That would be such a waste, on both of our counts. 

That was it. I had no more excuses to hold him back. None. No more judgements. No more hesitations.

I lay there, listening to him snore, and smiled. 

* * *

The first thing I felt as I woke up, was something heavy and sticky on my chest. I blinked a few times, and then raised my head slowly to see what it was. The sight made me laugh. Methos was resting his head on my chest, his nose buried to my chest hair. 

It wasn't like I'd never seen him asleep before, but it was the first time I ever saw him like this, and I must admit that I liked seeing him so relaxed with me. In bed with me. 

Methos mumbled something, as his new pillow didn't stay still, and then opened one eye to look at me. For just a second, there was confusion in his gaze. Then he jolted up. "What the hell?"

"Well now. That's certainly not flattering, Methos." I smirked at him. "Keep on with it, and you'll sleep on the couch tonight."

He gave me a hesitant smile, and then his gaze moved to my chest. Raising his hand to wipe his face, he glanced around to see if there was anything to use to wipe me clean, too. When he saw a box of tissues on the nightstand, he grabbed a few of them, and discreetly wiped my chest with them. The brush of his hand on my skin made me tingle. 

With excitement, not fear. "Thanks."

"Well, I thought that since I drooled on you, I should also clean you." Methos grinned at my expression and then grew serious. "About last night…"

I frowned. "What about last night?" 

"I seem to remember that I didn't actually follow my own advice on keeping this relationship completely platonic. Just wondering if I should apologize this time."

The question hung there between us. I gave it just a second of thought before shaking my head. "No. I asked you to come to bed with me, you kissed me. We're both guilty as charged." I turned to my side. "Should we go ask Joe what to do now?"

Methos scoffed, and then burrowed deeper under covers. "I can't really handle your sense of humor at this time of day, MacLeod."

"It's almost eight o'clock!" I pretended to be shocked. "We should have been up and about at six, going for a jog."

The answering glare was poisonous. "You want to torture yourself, that's fine by me. _I_ intend to sleep a few more hours." He closed his eyes, indicating that he wasn't exactly in the mood for a conversation.

I looked at him for a moment, and then decided that acting on impulse wasn't such a bad thing. Lowering my head down, I kissed him softly on the lips. "I'll give you two hours. Then you'd better get your lazy butt out of bed." 

Methos' eyes were wide open when I climbed off the bed. Good. It was about time I managed to surprise him.

He didn't go back to sleep after that. While I made breakfast, he muttered something about devious Scotsmen, and then glowered at me. I didn't comment on his griping, even suppressing the laughter that tried to escape me after one particularly colorful curse. 

Everything was all right again.

* * *

Since it was Saturday, I spent most of the day cleaning. Strangely, Methos didn't try to squirm out of helping me, and I could hear him humming a happy melody while he put the sheets to the washing machine, and then started scrubbing the bathroom. A well slept night clearly did miracles to him.

He didn't even bother to look annoyed when I teased him about his new attitude. 

I made a point of not making him a bed on the couch. There was a sharp look in the hazel eyes as he saw me spread the green sheets on my bed, and then one corner of his mouth started to tug up as I put his pillow and blanket next to mine. He accepted gracefully my subtle invitation to sleep in the bed, making just a few sarcastic comments. 

It was an unspoken agreement that it was really to sleep. I wasn't ready for more yet.

No good night kisses that night.

We went jogging on Sunday afternoon, the chilly weather just a plus side. It was extremely refreshing. We ran for a few hours, and then got back home to do some sparring together. It wasn't anything like that mock battle we'd had when I tried to persuade Methos to stay, but it was still enjoyable.

For once it was my turn to sprawl on the couch with a book as Methos heated leftovers from the previous day. We talked about nothing important while we ate, and then had a few rounds of chess.

All in all, a perfect weekend.

Or would have been, if the threat of more headhunters coming after us hadn't been lurking somewhere in the background. 

* * *

It was really annoying to wake up exactly half an hour before the alarm went on that Monday. After all, we'd stayed up late, watching some old movie from TV. But five past six I opened my eyes, and even though I tried, I couldn't sleep after that, 

Methos was still asleep, snoring softly. Somewhere during the night he had shifted his position so that instead of sprawling on his back, he was now in my arms. 

I snuggled against him, enjoying his warmth. It had been some time since I'd had anyone in my bed, and I liked the feeling. I liked it very much. Maybe even too much. His body was molded against mine, and I couldn't help registering every curve and muscle that was pressed against me. 

My arm was draped over his chest, my face half buried in the pillow, mere inches from his. There was that funny little frown on his forehead, crinkling the area between his eyebrows. It looked like he was thinking about some serious question, even in his sleep. I'd always loved it when he had that expression, even though he usually had it when he was lecturing me about something. 

Strange, how I'd never really had the chance to watch him properly. Maybe it was because of his sharp eyes that would have surely caught me at it. Now I let my gaze slide over his face, exploring every feature. Accented cheekbones, thin, but still somehow inviting lips, a little mole near the corner of his right eye. Funny, how I'd never really noticed that one before. 

I didn't want him to wake up to see me staring, so I closed my eyes. That just brought the reality of him so much closer to me. My every sense was filled with Methos. His scent teasing my nostrils, his breath on my cheek. That deceptively slim body against mine. 

It was pretty hard to keep my breathing normal. 

The sight of him in bed with me was still in my mind, but my subconscious wasn't satisfied with the image of us sleeping. It started playing tricks with me, making me imagine how it would feel to really touch him. To hold him, kiss him. Make love to him.

Almost groaning, I realized that I was getting hard. The more I tried to banish the thought of a very naked and very enthusiastic Methos pressed against me, the more vivid my fantasy got. I was horrified. It was definitely not the time for this, even though it was the right place. I wasn't ready for it yet, and I was pretty sure that neither was Methos.

Oh, I was ready for the sex part. There was no doubt about it. I knew I could handle his touch. But I wasn't ready for what came after it. Whatever it was, that is. I knew I cared for the old guy, but to have any kind of a relationship with him when we were in the middle of a constant threat… That was the hard thing.

Living with him was easy. Well, relatively easy, that is. I guess we all have our annoying habits, and since Methos was older than anyone else, it was just natural that he'd have more of those than anyone I'd ever met before. But still, we managed to spend time together without wanting to kill each other. That was something.

I was a bit hesitant of doing anything that would make the situation any more difficult. It was bad enough that we'd already taken the first step towards a physical relationship with each other. But kissing wasn't the same as lovemaking. Even though it was a big part of it. 

The biggest problem was that I really did want him. It had been just a passing fantasy before. A little mind game, or a fleeting thought hidden deep inside my subconscious. It had never been more than that before Methos brought that subject up. Now I couldn't get rid of the idea.

Not just two friends living together, but living together as lovers.

Methos moved a little, and now my hand was sliding down his back. His hard, muscled back. His T-shirt had crawled up some time of the night, and my palm brushed against his bare skin. I forced myself to lie still, but the damage was already done. My body interpreted the feel of his warm flesh as a caress.

I tensed, praying to God that he would stay asleep for as long as it took for me to crawl out of the bed.

"MacLeod?" Methos' voice was sleepy. "What are you doing?"

My whole body jerked. The hand that was holding him close to me squeezed him even closer, just a reflex. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"Duncan?" Sounding a lot more awake, Methos moved a little, and then went completely still. 

I opened my eyes, just to see a shocked look on his face. Slowly, the shock transformed into surprised pleasure. Feeling the blush starting to creep to my cheeks, I closed my eyes again, wanting to melt through the mattress. 

Methos sighed a little. "It's okay. I'm just as confused about this whole thing, you know." There was the sound of a soft chuckle, and then he inched away from me.

It was quite a shock to realize that I didn't want him to go. I wanted to pull him closer.

When I finally moved, Methos had already disappeared to the bathroom. The sound of a shower was amazingly loud in the otherwise quiet loft.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I scratched my neck, feeling a little light headed. Must be because of the short hours of sleep I'd had.

I turned my gaze to the bathroom door instinctively as I heard it open, swallowing as I saw Methos step into the loft. He was wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. A fact that my silly brain immediately focused on.

He stopped after just a few steps, averting his eyes from mine. "You're staring."

Yes, I was, but I couldn't help myself. It was like I'd never seen him like that before. Seconds went by as I just stared at him, and then I noticed the faint blush that was creeping up his neck. It made me realize that I was feeling rather hot, too. 

"Um… Make some coffee, would you?" I didn't even wait for him to answer and bolted to the bathroom.

My hands were trembling when I pulled my clothes off. Catching my silly grin on the mirror, I couldn't help chuckling. Damn, I was acting like I'd never seen a naked person before, and Methos hadn't even _been_ naked. I winked at my reflection and then headed to the shower. 

I noticed that the faucet had been turned completely to the right. That made the grin on my face widen. So, Methos had enjoyed a cold shower that morning. Unlike the water, the thought was rather warming.

After making sure that the spray that hit me wouldn't be freezing, I stepped into the shower stall. The bottle of shower gel was uncapped, and I squeezed some of the scented stuff on the wash cloth. 

When I spread the lather on my chest, I couldn't help thinking that Methos had been doing the same just minutes before. The thought made me moan. I didn't even have to imagine how he looked under the spray, his body all soaped. All I had to do was to close my eyes and my mind brought back the sight of him. But I didn't think of him as that hollow shell he'd been that day months ago. No, he was definitely conscious, his skin as flushed as it had been in reality when he'd stood there in front of me moments earlier.

This time he didn't just stand there while I washed him. The hazel eyes glinted with mischief as he took the wash cloth from me, and then started to wash my neck, moving downwards with small circles. I had to brace myself against the wall as my fantasy Methos and my own hand reached my nipples, still keeping the touch soft.

I moved the wash cloth down, still keeping the image of Methos firmly in my mind. It was his hand touching me, stroking me. There was nothing but pleasure in the touch, and when I finally climaxed, I sobbed his name out loud.

It didn't matter that the water was getting cold again. I stood under the spray, panting. 

There had been no fear, no hesitation. My dream Methos hadn't turned into a nightmare in the middle of that fantasy. It gave me hope.

When I finally left the bathroom, I was greeted by the smell of fresh coffee. Methos had already dressed up, and he was sitting on the couch, keeping his attention on his coffee cup. I noticed there was a tiny smile on his lips. Well, it wasn't all that hard for him to guess why I'd been so long in the shower. 

For some strange reason he didn't tease me about it.

I went to pour myself a cup of coffee before heading towards the closet. I sipped the dark liquid as I selected clothes for that day, and wondered where we'd go from here.

He'd said that the time wasn't right for us to get involved. I'd agreed then, but the more I thought about it, the more I started to doubt that. 

If we had fallen in bed together the first moment I'd thought he was attractive, one of us would be now dead. Or at least we wouldn't have anything to do with each other. Our friendship had almost ended by the Horsemen. I could only imagine how I'd reacted if he'd been my lover at the time. That kind of a betrayal would have been impossible to forgive. 

Now it was different. I wasn't deluding myself that I knew all about Methos. There were probably dozens of things I'd never know about him. But I did know what kind of a nightmare his existence had once been. I knew how different that was from the man he was now.

My world that had been a comforting and rather simple place would never be the same again. Not with Methos in it. His existence went far beyond the shades of gray. I accepted him as he was. Grudgingly, but I did. I had to. With Methos, one had to take the whole package. Inside and out. Good and evil. 

Holding to that thought, I smiled at him when I was fully dressed, and then headed towards the door.

* * *

It was harder to concentrate on work after the long and relaxed weekend. I was constantly on the edge, fighting against the need to stay with Methos all the time. Now that we weren't just friends anymore, I was getting more protective about him. It wasn't all that easy to let him get out of my sight, but I knew he could take care of himself. 

Maybe that was harder to face than anything else. That he was really capable of defending himself. He didn't really need me. 

From the day I first fell in love with my kinsman's betrothed, I'd felt the need to protect the ones I cared for. Or then I'd felt suffocated when the one I was living wanted to protect me, like Kristen had tried to protect me from Duncan MacLeod the Barbarian. 

Connor had been the only one who had made it perfectly clear from the beginning that if I tried to 'patronize' him, I'd get a kick on the arse. It wasn't quite like that with Methos, but I knew that he'd never expect --or allow-- me to play knight protector to him. He wouldn't come running to me every time he was in trouble. More likely he'd just run and hide.

Of course he had the other side in him. The one that had made him stand by me when I was fighting against inner demons, the ones I got from Coltec, and the ones I'd caused myself centuries ago, in the madness after Culloden. 

If we became lovers, could I really handle all that it meant? Could I live with the knowledge that in some respects, he would be the stronger of the two of us?

I honestly didn't know. But I was willing to try.

* * *

It's funny how a simple thought could become an obsession in a matter of days. 

Well, not funny, really. More like pathetic. 

When I started to think about it, I realized that there are no certainties in life. Not for a person like me, not about my _own_ life, my own future. Not even death and the taxes. Possibilities, yes. And probabilities. But nothing concrete. 

Now there was one more possibility, and I found it fascinating. Not just intriguing. The thought of having a relationship with Methos changed pretty quickly from a theory into something I wanted to try in reality. 

One of the reasons I was having hard time of getting his body out of my mind was the fact that everything was going well between the two of us. At work, at home. We were still having arguments, but somehow they seemed more like a prelude to something completely different than fighting. Almost like verbal foreplay.

It dawned to me that in the end, nothing had really changed. We'd been doing it for years now. It was just that I hadn't had a word for our behavior earlier.

As days went by, it became clearer to me that I was ready to see where this thing between Methos and me was going. 

We continued sleeping together. It was strange how good it was to have him there next to me. Both mentally and physically speaking. It wasn't just that I'd missed a warm body close to me. I enjoyed the fact that it was him with me.

I kept going through it in my head, not really getting anywhere no matter how I tried. All the questions were still there when I went to work, or shopping, or made dinner. Sometimes I had a stray thought about the situation we still had with Cassandra, and then I'd spend hours joggling with the two thoughts. The uncertainties of our lives told me that I'd be a fool to change things between my friend and me. But on the other hand, we were already moving towards a relationship.

Quite frankly, I thought I was going out of my mind. Methos wasn't doing anything special, but I didn't seem to be able to stop thinking about him. He didn't pad around the loft half naked anymore, but I still found myself staring at him all the time. And at nights, I held him in my arms, breathing in his scent, smiling as I recognized the smell of my favorite soap on his skin.

The need was always there, mixed together with familiarity, and tenderness. And on occasion, annoyance and irritation. But it never went away. Need, want. Desire. It was like a hunger. Not a hidden thought anymore, but something I could admit to myself, and him, freely. I wanted him more than I'd wanted anything for a long time. And it drove me towards madness.

It had taken all of two days for me to get to that point. 

Sometimes my lack of patience even amazes myself. No, it wasn't lack of patience. Not really. It was more about me knowing that I could have something, and still wondering if I should really just reach out and take it. 

At least I thought so. To say that I was confused, would be an understatement. 

Finally I decided to stop worrying. It would be best to continue as we had up to that point, and see what would happen.

* * *

It wasn't like I planned it. Well, actually I _did_ plan some of it. I felt like we were living according to a schedule, Cassandra's schedule, and when the weekend approached, I decided to take that first step before it was once again time to stand guard. 

We'd had a busy day, and I had a slight stress related headache when I got home. The light supper I managed to nag Methos to prepare helped a little, as did the shoulder-massage the old man gave me. We spent the most of that evening on the couch, just trying to relax.

Considering that, I wasn't all that surprised when my arm ended up around his shoulders. 

Methos smiled at my tentative touch, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked so unbelievably cute at the moment. Still dressed in his work clothes, those that made him give out the 'professorish' aura. He'd dropped the glasses off somewhere, but I could still see the little mark they left on the ridge of his nose. We were just sitting there, doing nothing special, and before I could think, I was pulling him close to an embrace. It seemed logical to continue to a kiss. 

I felt his lips against mine for just a second. Then he squirmed away from me, looking surprised. "This is not a good idea." His voice was deeper than usually. 

"Why? Because of..." I really didn't want to say anything about that Quickening. "I'm all right with this, Methos."

"You are." More like a statement than a question. 

"Aye."

Sighing, my friend shook his head. "There's more to this than it, Mac. I know you can handle my touch now. Have you thought about the rest of it?"

I hadn't thought about anything else for some time now. "I have." 

When I tried to touch him again, he moved out of my reach. "No." There was a flicker of doubt, and even fear in his gaze as he jumped up to his feet.

"Why?" He wasn't making any sense. We both wanted each other. There was no doubt about that now. Why was he still insisting that we wait? Was _he_ having second thoughts? "What is it?"

Methos stood still for a moment, obviously trying to compose himself. Then he smiled sadly. "You have no idea, do you? You have no idea of how much you could hurt me. How _this_ could hurt me." He gestured between him and me. 

I opened my mouth to protest, but his glare silenced me. 

"You might not even do it on purpose. Always the best of intentions, isn't that right? But if you do this now, without really…" He snapped his mouth shut. The smile on his lips was sarcastic now. "I'm too old to weep for a broken heart, Duncan. If you decide you can't handle this… If you can't handle _me_ , you'll hurt me more than you can imagine. That's why I want to take it slow."

Damn him. Just when I thought I had him figured out, he'd say something like that. Showing that kind of vulnerability both with his words and his posture totally silenced me for a moment. 

There were so many things he'd just said to me, but there was also much unsaid. But his secrets were irrelevant compared to the things he'd revealed to me. Methos knew as well as I did that relationships --any kinds of relationships-- between Immortals were always difficult. Often even dangerous. And what we were now contemplating could very easily slip a way beyond friendship. Yet, here he was, talking to me about it instead of running and hiding. I wondered how long had it been since he'd last trusted someone like that. _Anyone_. 

"Methos, it doesn't have to change anything…" It sounded lame even in my own ears.

"No!" He snapped, gesturing with his hands. "This will irrevocably change things between us. It'll change _everything_."

I wanted to challenge his words, but somehow I knew he was right. After all, sex between friends, even the closest of friends, changed everything. With Methos, it would probably be even more difficult than with others. Nothing in our friendship had ever been easy.

Seeing that I wasn't about to argue, my friend nodded, and then headed towards the closet for some clean linens.

He slept on the couch that night, and the big bed had never felt that lonely before. 

* * *

The next day was Friday, so I should have been worried all day, wondering if there might be yet another hunter lurking somewhere. Well, I did worry, but not about that. 

Changes. My life had already changed tremendously since I'd first met Methos. Not all the changes were because of him, but some of them were. The big ones. I wasn't sure how making our relationship more intimate could really affect our lives. Maybe he was concerned that it might be harder for him to leave if he was going leave behind someone who was more than just a friend.

But even though nothing had happened --yet, I hoped--, we were acting differently that day. It wasn't actually awkward to be in his company. We'd passed the phase where being honest embarrassed one or the other some time ago. If anything, the atmosphere was wistful. Even expecting. Sooner or later we _would_ take that step. Just not yet.

Too damn bad.

Joe called early on Saturday. When I heard he had some new, but relatively unimportant information about Amanda, I thought it would be a great idea to go and hear the news from the man himself. 

Methos agreed with me. I guess we had the same thought; that staying at the loft all day might cause some weird situations. We both knew just exactly how difficult it would be to stay inside the whole weekend, with just each other to talk about, to be with.

My Watcher looked amused when we walked into the bar. "Hello, guys. Long time no see."

Sarcasm. Nice. "Hello, Joseph. How's business?" I raised an eyebrow, and glanced around. If we didn't count the elderly man who seemed to almost live at Joe's, we were the only customers there. "Looks busy."

"When you two stop your little male bonding ritual, would you please hand me a beer, Joe?" Methos climbed to the barstool, looking expectant.

I shook my head, following his example. "I'll have a beer, too." Griping with Joe just wouldn't be that funny after Methos' comment. Spoilsport!

"Sure thing, Mac." Joe gave us our drinks, and then leaned against the counter. "Okay, let's get the business over with first."

Sipping my beer, I listened to his story about Amanda's latest escapades in Europe. Her current location didn't surprise me. After all, it was obvious by now that she was never all that far from that certain ex-cop who'd only recently became an Immortal. What did surprise me, was the fact that apparently she had spent the last months leading an honest life. No reports of crimes or murky schemes. 

That was amazing. And hilarious, of course.

I was glad that there was nothing bad going on in her life. A sudden bout of honesty would be good for Amanda. It was also good that she was entertained somewhere far away from here. The last thing I needed was to have her here to make things even more complicated. 

Methos seemed to share my opinion. "Good for her!" He raised his bottle up and drank. A small smile played on his lips as he lowered the glass. "I wish her all the luck in the world."

"I bet you do." Joe grinned at him. 

Instead of glowering, the old man just nodded at him. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I want to see a friend happy?" The innocent look on his face was so perfect, it had to be a fake one.

Seemed to me that my Watcher thought so, too. "Yeah, right. So what now? You're not just the oldest and the wisest, but suddenly you're full of good will towards your fellow men? And women, of course."

Methos cocked his head and pretended to think it over. Then he nodded again. "Yes. I'd say you're right on track there."

As they both started to chuckle, I shook my head, and raised the glass to my lips. Those two could be impossible sometimes. Sure, they were supposed to be mature, but you couldn't see any trace of maturity watching them now. Not that it was such a bad thing, though. I knew --with a slight stab in my conscience-- that Joe worked way too hard, and it was a joy to see him so relaxed. Of course I loved to hear the old man laugh, too. 

I turned to flash Methos a quick smile, and then just stared as bright red liquid started to flow down from his left nostril. 

"My God," Joe exclaimed, no trace of laughter in his voice. He searched his pocket for something, and then grabbed a handful of tissues from under the counter and handed them to Methos.

Trying to make the nosebleed stop, my friend waved his hand dismissively. "It's all right. It's not the first time this has happeeds, after all." Seeing our stunned expressions, he continued, "It's the third time since I took the latest Quickening."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I was shocked he'd keep something like that from me. 

Methos replaced the soaked tissues with clean ones and sighed. "I didn't want to make you worried. I'm certain this is just to annoy me, to show me my 'mortality'."

I touched his shoulder. "Next time something like this happens, tell me." 

"Duncan…" 

"No." I held out more clean tissues for him, and then grabbed his free hand into mine. "Don't keep these things from me. I need to know."

"And what will you do with that knowledge?" Methos' voice was full of curiosity. "Fight against my weakened veins?"

Joe was trying to hide a smile, even though I didn't find the situation amusing. 

"At least it wouldn't scare me half to death when you suddenly start to bleed!" Somehow I managed to turn the yell into an angry growl. Damn it! Seeing the stream of blood flow down his face had made my heart pound twice as fast as usual. 

There was amazement in Methos' hazel eyes. Then he flashed a bright smile at me, still holding the bloodied tissues on his nose. "I'm touched."

I had to swallow hard. "You know I care." If he didn't know that by now, he was blind. "Please, Methos. No more secrets like this, okay?"

"Okay." His voice was soft, as he agreed with me. 

For a moment none of us knew what to say. I'd expected him to argue with me, and was stunned of the way he'd accepted my concern on him. The look in his eyes also warmed me. I was thinking we might be heading towards the area we'd been trying to avoid for days, and this was definitely not the place where we should explore our closer relationship.

Handing Methos more clean tissues, Joe muttered, "At least at this rate you won't need a costume tomorrow if you decide to go trick or treating." He glanced at the glass in front of my friend, continuing barely audibly, "Then again, why would you bother. They just hand out candy, not beer." 

The old man burst into laughter, having trouble holding the tissues on his nose. 

Even though the tension was now broken, the smile that appeared on my lips was forced. They could laugh and joke about it all they wanted, but I knew Joe and Methos were just as worried about this as I was. And just as frightened. 

* * *

All Hallow's Eve. 

Since the signs to the dojo mark my house so clearly as a building where no one really lives, no one came to ask for candy that evening. There was no sign of other Immortals, either. No tricks, no treats. 

I wasn't disappointed. Spending an evening at home with Methos was just what I needed. 

The old man did some work, but mostly sprawled on the couch, reading or watching TV. They were showing some old horror movies, and he seemed to find them fascinating. 

As he stared at the screen, I busied myself in the kitchen. It was weird, but I was still shaken by his nosebleed that previous day. Somehow it made him look vulnerable, and I didn't like that. Yes, I knew that he was no superhuman, but seeing him look so... _helpless_ seemed wrong. Correction, it was wrong that someone had made him look so helpless. No one had the right to violate another person like that. The whole thing made me angry as hell.

It also made me want to pamper him. Not to treat like a helpless creature who needed saving, but to show him that he was home, and he could relax. I didn't make a big thing out of it, but I did spend some extra time making food he'd like, and humoring him.

Methos seemed to enjoy it, even though the amused glances he threw at me told me that he knew exactly what I was doing, and why.

I was glad he didn't comment on it, though. Some witty repartee about our lives was always expected when he was around, but this was something I didn't want to joke about. There had been no hunters coming after either of us for over a week, but witnessing the all too visible after effects of his last Quickening was almost like having been under attack again. 

We couldn't start planning any kind of future until Cassandra had ended her quest for revenge. Maybe that was a part of Methos' reluctance to get any more physical with me. I didn't exactly like it, but I respected his wish. 

Pumpkin pie, some ice cream and a beer for Methos. Then some chatting in between B-grade horror movies. No cuddling. Just two good friends spending Halloween together.

* * *

The air was turning rather crispy. Soon there would come the first snowflakes. Winter up here was nothing like the freezing winters I'd experienced in my homeland centuries ago, but the dropping of the temperature was shocking anyway.

It wasn't too late for me to enjoy jogging, though. All I had to do was to be careful not to step on leaves that seemed to be all over the streets of Seacouver. That always made me shake my head with disgust. No matter how people knew that slippery leaves would cause pedestrians to have all kinds of accidents, it hadn't yet occurred to the councilmen that hiring people to sweep the leaves off the streets would prevent those accidents. And save money in the long run.

Some mortals really couldn't see farther than their own noses.

I even got Methos to join me one evening, when it wasn't too windy or cold for his tastes. Jogging didn't seem to be his favorite form of exercise, but he followed me anyway. 

His apparent distaste towards running probably came from the fact that you couldn't really jog while carrying a sword under your jacket. Still, he seemed eager to practice his running. Like he said, a man whose number one defense was to get away from the trouble as quickly as possible had to be able to run faster than his foe. 

I should have guessed that was the case.

Even though we'd left our swords home, we weren't unarmed. Far from it, actually. I didn't really like it, but I'd picked up Methos' habit of carrying a gun. At least when I couldn't have my katana with me. Of course the old man probably had a whole arsenal hidden under his coat.

There weren't a lot of people at the streets. Most of them were probably inside watching prime time TV. Those who were passing us by looked like they were hurrying home, and I could see only a few others jogging. 

As we headed towards home, it became clear why the streets were mostly deserted.

When we were turning away from the Park Lane, it started raining. Not a soft and warm rain that didn't really bother anyone, but a real, cold rain. It was amazing how well Methos could swear, even as he was still running. 

It was more like running for our lives than jogging now. Large puddles had formed everywhere on the streets, and it was impossible to dodge every single one as we hurried towards home. Methos ended up stepping into a very formidable puddle just a few meters outside the dojo, and the words he muttered as we finally entered my building would have made even a sailor blush.

Up at the loft, he took off his sneakers and then padded to the bathroom door, giving me a pointed look as he peeled off his damp socks and threw them in the hamper. Grabbing a towel, he dried his hair so vigorously that it stood straight up, making him look silly as hell. 

It wasn't all that easy to stay quiet, but I knew he wouldn't appreciate my laughing out loud. I just turned away from him to hide my grin, and then put both our coats to dry. 

Methos leaned his side against the kitchen island, and shook his legs, wiggling his toes. "I’m exhausted." 

I smiled openly at the annoyed look on his face. Before I could even think, I slipped behind him, and wrapped my arms around his chest. "Poor Methos. I guess you really _are_ too old for some things."

Craning his neck, he glared at me. "Don’t push your luck, Mac."

"I wouldn’t even dream about it." Breathing in his scent, a strange combination of his aftershave and sweat from the run, I planted a kiss on his neck. Methos didn’t tense this time. He just relaxed against me. 

There was something so _right_ in that moment. It was as if we’d been having that kind of an intimate relationship for years.

For long minutes, we just stood there, neither of us willing to move. Then I sighed. "I guess I should take a shower now." Appealing as the thought of spending the whole evening in an embrace was, we were both a little damp from the rain. Also, we hadn't eaten in hours. Sooner or later we'd have to start thinking about the practical things, and I had the suspicion that the longer I held Methos, the more reluctant I'd be to let go.

My friend echoed my sigh. When he spoke, there was a clear note of regret in his voice. "Sure."

"I won't take long." Unwrapping my arms from around him, I walked to the bathroom without a backwards glance. 

Keeping my promise, I washed myself quickly, and then hurried to the loft while Methos brushed by me, already peeling off his sweaty T-shirt. I had to blink a few times, trying to gather my thoughts before I could go and get dressed.

As I heard him start the shower, I padded to the kitchen, wondering if I should actually cook something, or just make some sandwiches. A quick glance at the contents of the fridge revealed that we could have a salad, or I could try to make something out of the beef I'd bought the previous day.

Sanity suggested that a light salad after a jog would be the most healthy choice. But then I thought about how pleased Methos would be if I surprised him with something a bit more tasty. 

I smiled at my silly thoughts, but the lettuce remained in the fridge.

Methos spent ages in the bathroom, as usual. While he was splashing there, I set the table, and on an instinct, opened a bottle of red wine. Yep. It would be great to have a good dinner that evening. 

"MacLeod?"

I spun around to see my friend standing at the doorway, looking at me with a puzzled expression on his face. Smiling at him, I gestured towards the table. "I thought we deserve something nice this evening. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes." Taking a good look at him, my gaze sliding from his feet to the tousled and still wet hair, I added, "You might want to put some clothes on. Don't get me wrong, I like the towel, but it's a bit distracting."

He made an offended snort, and then walked to the closet, muttering something unflattering from under his breath. He didn't sound too serious about it, though. 

As we finally sat down at the table, it was easy to return to the relaxed mood we'd shared the whole day. We talked about easy things, mostly work related. Even when we were silent, the silence was companionable. 

Everything was peaceful again. Even when we'd finished eating, we sat there for a long time. There was no need to break the mood by getting up. But we couldn't spend the whole night there. 

Yawning, I pushed my chair back. Methos followed my suit. 

We carried the plates and glasses to the kitchen island. After such an enjoyable evening, I didn't feel like working anymore, so I just laid the dishes on the counter, promising myself I'd deal with them the first thing I came from work the next day.

My actions earned me an amusing glance.

"That was truly a wonderful dinner." Methos' eyes twinkled. "I think I'll stay here for a few years. Good food, excellent service, and even my favorite brand of beer in the fridge."

I smiled. Something in his words made me feel warm inside. Having him around for a longer period of time didn't really sound all that bad. "This is not a hotel, Methos. If you want to stay here, you'll have to start doing your share of the chores." The thought of him standing by the sink, wearing an apron and washing dishes, was hilarious. Yes, he did help me occasionally, but I was the one doing most of the housework. 

"I could do chores, MacLeod. But wouldn't you rather have me just be here, entertaining you?"

If that wasn't an invitation, the earth really _was_ as flat as the village priest in Scotland had first taught me. I leaned closer to him, keeping the offended look firmly in place until my face was only a few inches away from his. Then I smiled at him, and covered his mouth with mine. 

My mind was in turmoil. I was kissing Methos. My God, I was _kissing_ him. And oh, God was he kissing me back! His lips so alive against mine, moving, caressing. Neither of us dared to deepen the kiss, but just that soft touch almost stole my breath away.

"Duncan. I think we should stop this now." Methos' eyes were like two dark pools of desire. "If we don't, soon I won't be able to stop at all."

One kiss. It had been just one, small kiss, and he was already breathing hard. I was doing the same thing. The thought of going on flashed through my head, and I was overjoyed it only raised warm thoughts. But I knew that it wouldn't be a smart thing to do this before things were more stable with us.

Maybe it was for the best that he was now sleeping on the couch. His warm body next to mine on the bed would be too big a temptation. 

We'd wait… For what? For our lives to be less hectic? We'd have to wait a hell of along time for that, for there was almost always something going on. And with the threat from Cassandra, it wasn't even certain we'd both have a life to continue after the whole thing was over. I shivered at the thought. For the first time I realized that now might be our only chance. Now or never.

Still holding Methos, I tried to calm my breathing and closed my eyes. The embrace was quite different from the one we'd shared after that horrendous week when I'd jumped at his presence, but I found the same peace in it. Peace for the mind, but temptation to the flesh. And suddenly all those reasons that kept me from making love with him didn't make any sense anymore.

I raised my hand to the back of his head, but didn't pull him into a kiss. Instead, I molded my body against his, so that our hips met, emphasizing the arousal that was now palpable between us.

He tensed again. "Duncan…" 

No more talking. "Now, Methos. There's no reason to hold this thing off anymore. I want you." There were other words trying to climb up my throat too, but I wasn't ready for them yet. They wouldn't mean as much to either of us as they would later. When we were both thinking clearly. When they weren't just said as a part of making love.

Lowering my head again, I kissed him. He stood there, unresponsive for a moment, his whole body shaking. Then his arms came around me and I was pulled into a fierce embrace. 

Then _he_ was kissing _me_. Not just answering my touch, but making the first move. His lips possessed mine, his tongue exploring my mouth thoroughly. He was in perfect control of that kiss.

It was a delicious sensation, being held and caressed that way. Methos didn't hesitate, he just let the heat of that moment burn us, wedging his thigh between mine and tightening his arms around me.

I felt like melted wax, yielding to his kiss.

When the kiss ended, Methos moved his hands to grab my biceps, and then pushed me at arms' length. His gaze was a mix of concern and burning desire. "Be sure about this. Very sure."

Nodding, I tried to stay still. Squirming to get more contact with his body wouldn't have been a good idea. Not, when he wanted me to assure him we were doing the right thing for the right reasons. "Yes, I'm sure." 

"Duncan..." The sound of my name made me moan. "There's no going back after this."

No going back... The only direction I was interested was forward. Preferably to the right, and then straight across the room to the bed that was waiting for us.

"I know. I _know_." My gaze was locked with his. Oh, God! I wanted him!

Seeming to be content with my answer, Methos pulled me into yet another kiss.

Soft kisses on my lips. Then his mouth was on my jaw, my neck. Hoarse words whispered in between kisses, licks and nips. "I should have known. Dinner, wine... A classical seduction scene."

Wanting to object, I opened my mouth. Then I decided that it would be stupid to say I hadn't really planned this. Well, I hadn't, but he'd never believe me. "It worked, didn't it?" I punctuated my remark by licking the curve of his ear. 

His reaction to that touch was quite flattering. There were no more teasing words as his mouth worked on my throat. A moment later I felt those nimble fingers starting to open the buttons of my shirt.

I wrapped my arms around him tighter, enjoying the hardness of his body. It had been so long, I'd almost forgot how different it was to touch another man like this. There was no soft curves in his body, it was pure muscle. My hands wiggled under his shirt to caress his back.

"Gods, Duncan..." Methos moved closer to me, pushing me against the kitchen island and stepping on my foot as he did so. 

Wincing, I moved my foot from under his, and then bit his neck as a gentle punishment. The moan my bite drew from him was so gratifying, I bit him again. And again, soothing his skin with my lips after every bite.

It was getting really passionate in no time. I'd been wanting him for so long. And from the haste his hands were tugging my shirt open, so had he. We were both fumbling, trying to get our clothes off, not really accomplishing in it.

My shirt got finally unbuttoned. Methos pulled it off, and then threw it over my head. I heard a clatter, and then there was a sound of something breaking. By the sound of it, it was probably one or both of the wine glasses. 

Hungry lips found mine. "Sorry about that."

About what? I didn't really care if he broke every single glass I owned, as long as we got naked in the next five minutes. Or less. Not bothering to lift my mouth from his long enough to answer, I started to guide him towards the bed.

It was ridiculous, really. We bumped into the bookshelf, twice, and almost stumbled in the coffee table. We managed to make our way to the other side of the loft, though, leaving behind a trail of clothes, and fallen books.

My hands were trembling, when we finally stood by the bed. I knew we had to slow down, or it would end before it really had the chance to begin. "Methos..." I held him tight against me, panting against his shoulder.

He seemed to understand what I was trying to do. We stood there for a long moment, both trying to calm down. But God, that was hard. His bare chest against mine, heaving as he took deep breaths, his every exhale a caress on my neck. 

When the most pressing feeling of urgency had passed, I slowly moved my hands down his back. Cursing slightly as the thick denim came between my hands and his bare skin, I stepped away from him, and then began to open his jeans. Methos stood there, his fingers still on my shoulders, lifting his feet when his pants slid down his legs. He hadn't bothered to put on socks after his shower, and now he was standing there, wearing only thin boxers. 

My gaze slid over his body, my hands joining the exploration immediately as I'd mapped his features with my eyes. This was it. Not just watching. His skin felt so warm against my palms. 

Smooth as the finest marble. His chest heaved as my thumb brushed against a nipple. The reaction wasn't as strong as the one I'd got when I licked his ear. Through the warm haze, my brain decided it had something to do with the fact that I wasn't actually licking any part of him at the moment, and I lapped his collar bone, intending on moving downwards very, _very_ soon. After all, his chest looked like it was made for tasting. Only muscles, and a hint of hair on his lower abdomen. 

That thought made me shiver. Yes, he was a feast. A low-fat dessert. I wanted to taste him everywhere. 

I planted a soft kiss on his throat, and then shifted my position. Touching and kissing, I oozed down his body, until I was almost kneeling in front of him. His burning gaze following my every move. I lowered my head to nuzzle his belly, smiling as he squirmed at the ticklish touch.

Before I could decide whether to pull off the last bit of his clothes, or to just touch him, I felt his hands on my head, fingers lacing through my hair, and he pulled me away from his groin. I looked up, and saw him smile at me, even though there was more desire than amusement in that smile. "Not yet." His hands left my head, and helped me up. I really needed that, swaying when I was once again face to face with him. Even the earlier jog hadn't made me this out of breath.

Lips on mine, more hot kisses. Then with a very clever little move I was flipped on my back. I was falling, falling, and then met the soft mattress with a loud protest from the springs. I looked up at Methos and saw a smile I answered immediately. 

The rest of my clothes were removed surprisingly gently. No ripping. I wouldn't have cared at that moment. His touch was caressing, arousing, and there was nothing but pleasure at that touch. Just like I'd known all the time. Methos' hands were everywhere, his expression one of pure joy, as he caressed me. I should have known that he'd take pleasure in making me feel good.

More than good. It was bliss, heaven... And damn frustrating. No matter I was completely naked now, he seemed to think there was some kind of barrier just about there where I really needed his hands on. I squirmed on the bed, panting, moaning, but he still wouldn't touch me there. My chest, my abdomen. Even my thighs, his long fingers teasing the sensitive skin near my groin. 

"Oh, come _on_ , Methos!" I wailed. Damn you, you tease. I swore if I didn't feel that magical touch on my cock in the next two seconds, I'd... " _Yes_!"

Feeling his touch on my erection, I spread my legs a little. Not just to give him the permission to do whatever he wanted, but to show him that I trusted him. 

He didn't make a sound, but I could almost feel his surprise as he looked me straight in the eyes. Then he smiled at me, as his hand started to move on me.

I pulled his head closer to a kiss. His tongue explored my mouth, my taste. I wondered if he could taste the red wine as clearly as I could. Just like the fact that the scent of my soap lingered on both our skins, the thought of having the same taste made me burn. 

Methos' hand moved faster on my shaft, his lips trailing traces on my face and neck. He came back for a long kiss, and then sat up, never abandoning the smooth movement of his hand. 

Looking at me, he groaned, "Gods! You really are something, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Admiration, not mockery. The hazel gaze moved over me, and I could feel my skin flush under his scrutiny. I couldn't keep the moan inside, as he focused his eyes on my groin, staring with fascination at his work. A small smile appeared on his lips, and then he lowered his head down to join his hand.

"Methos..."

A second later my whole body went completely rigid, as his mouth found my erection. His hands moved downwards, still caressing me, holding me. 

First just his lips on me. Those same soft kisses and nips he'd showered on my neck. The first wet lick made me close my eyes. Oh, damn. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was driving me crazy. The loft was echoing with my pleas when he finally closed his lips over my throbbing erection.

" _Methos_!"

Grinding my teeth together, I tried to keep my hips from moving upwards. His touch was so perfect, I didn't want to do anything that might make him stop. But I couldn't lie still for long. Soon, I started to thrust up to his mouth. I could swear I felt him smile around my erection.

My hands flailed on the sheets, trying to find something to hold on to. One of them was grabbed in a strong grip, and then guided to the head that was moving faster over my groin. Once I had the permission, I couldn't control myself anymore, and grabbed his head with both of my hands.

It was incredible to feel his spiky hair against my hands, to hold his head against me. An illusion of control. Just an illusion, for Methos was definitely the one in charge here. I moaned. He definitely knew what he was doing. But I wanted to do more than just lay there and let him pleasure me. 

I wanted to touch him all over. To kiss him, to hold him, but the touch of his mouth was irresistible. Lying there, I buried myself inside that wet cavern over and over again, whimpering as he literally sucked all energy from me.

That simple touch became too much to bear. I arched my back as he pushed me over the edge. "Methos!" Pulsing in his mouth I came so hard I screamed.

Feeling him give my cock one last lick, he let go of me and crawled to lie beside me. I tried to catch my breath, keeping my eyes at him all the time. When I was sure I could speak without being in danger to faint, I mumbled, "And you said you have no passion left in you. Is it just me, or do you lie to everyone?"

"Just you. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with anyone else." Methos sounded out of breath, too. His voice deep and throaty.

"Good!" Only when I said it out loud I realized how possessive it sounded. He didn't seem to mind, though. Lifting his hand to my temple, he brushed my hair back, the soft touch of his fingers more soothing than caressing.

He didn't have to remind me of his need with his touch. Would have been hard to forget it when his erection was pressing against my side.

Looking into his eyes, I knew that he wouldn't ask for it. He wouldn't ask for anything. After all that had happened, I could give, but he couldn't take. Even though I was feeling like all my bones had turned into liquid, the thought of giving sounded quite inviting.

I smiled, knowing that he would never hurt me on purpose. Not like this. "Methos?"

He quirked up an eyebrow.

"Whatever you want." I meant it.

There was doubt in the hazel gaze. "Anything?" Methos' voice was husky. His thumb was now making those soothing circles on my temple.

"Anything." Encouraging him with my touch to roll over so that he now lay almost on top of me, I ran my hand up his back and pulled him into a kiss. 

Kissing me back with passion, Methos shifted his position slightly. After some squirming, he lay comfortably on me. Then he began to thrust, his hardness gliding between my thighs once, and then angling against my hip. It was a strange sensation, to just lie under him, having him take his pleasure from my body without really demanding anything from me.

I watched his face as he began to move faster. The long day, and the earth shattering orgasm made sure I wasn't really up to a round two that night. That gave me a perfect chance to just watch him. It was touching to see Methos like that, eyes glazed, mouth slightly open. Concentrating on the pressure that was so obviously building up inside of him. 

His lips sought mine again, the touch of his mouth a possession, not a caress. I groaned to his touch, moving my hands to his arse, to aid him with his moves. His fierceness was something I reveled in. 

Giving my mouth one last nip, he lifted himself up on his elbows, so he could look at me as he slid against me. Lips moving slightly, he didn't make a sound, though. His hair was glued to his head, small beads of perspiration forming on his forehead. The normally so pale skin flushed as his movements became frenzied. 

It was one of the most beautiful sights I'd ever seen. My friend was usually so in control of his actions, it was amazing to see him throw all the control out of the window and just drown in pleasure. The pleasure my body gave him.

Methos focused his eyes on mine, his gaze holding me as he convulsed against me. My name was whispered so softly that I almost missed it.

I lay under him for a long time, feeling completely happy, even if a little stunned. When I finally shifted my position a little, I grimaced at the slimy feeling that was spreading on me. When I moved, it started to ooze under me. "Damn, this is messy."

"So? Are you going to do something about it?"

His question sounded like he thought that I was going to jump up and demand that we change the sheets right then. The mere idea of having the strength to do that was hilarious. "Yes." I rolled over to the left and wiped my belly with the corner of the sheet. Then I rolled back right and snuggled against Methos. "Much better."

"Yes, it is." A strong arm drew me even closer to him.

* * *

Something woke me up before the dawn. I lay still, trying to find out what exactly had jolted me awake from a very nice dream. Then I heard the sound again, and smiled. Nope. It hadn't been a dream after all. There was a very real Methos lying next to me, snoring slightly.

I stretched, careful not to disturb his sleep. His snoring ended, but otherwise he didn't stir. 

It felt good to just lay there. I itched all over, and the smell of sweat and sex told me I really needed a shower. But I found it impossible to move out of the bed. Instead of rushing to the bathroom, I rolled to my side, and propped myself up on an elbow. Scratching my hip absentmindedly, I focused my gaze on Methos.

He was lying in bed on his stomach, sound asleep. It was a perfect opportunity to watch his naked body. Not like in the shower weeks before, when I'd been surveying him without his consent. This time I felt that I had every right to stare, and I did. The previous night also gave me a permission to touch, and I followed his spine with the tip of my index finger. Then I leaned down, and followed the uneven scar on his buttock with my lips. 

"What are you doing?" There was a hint of amusement in his sleepy voice.

The most obvious answer seemed too crude for a moment like this. "Nothing. Just enjoying myself."

Methos let out a sound that wasn't exactly a snort, but not laughter either. "Good to hear you enjoy my... company. My bum is at your service." He shifted his position, wiggling the area in question.

I had to swallow twice, before I could even think of speaking. The mental images were quite stimulating. Opening my mouth, I was about to make a comment on his offering, and the damn alarm clock chose just that moment to start beeping. Well, of course, since that was the time I'd put it to wake us up. Still, I couldn't help growling. There was no way we'd have time for any kind of enjoyment now.

"Gods, Mac!" My lover squirmed with laughter as I crawled to put the alarm clock out of its misery. "Our timing really sucks!"

I agreed wholeheartedly, knowing I would be counting hours for the moment I could take him up on the offer. 

Surprisingly, the day didn't seem to last forever, like I'd feared it would. Feeling like I was full of energy, I actually enjoyed holding the classes that morning. My students looked mostly puzzled, but some of them smirked openly at me. Must have been because of the silly grin I couldn't wipe off my face. 

That was all right. The kids had to know that us teachers were just human. I wondered if Methos' students were having fun watching him that morning, too.

Well, at least he was smiling goofily when I saw him at the cafeteria at noon. So they probably did.

It was weird, but when I saw him, my heart started to beat faster. He was sitting there, on the other side of the table, not touching me, but it didn't matter. I could still remember how he'd looked, felt and tasted just hours ago. And I knew how he smelled right now.

God! I blushed, and tried to hide it by taking a bite of my sandwich. There were no marks on our bodies, no scratches or lovebites. Our Quickenings had healed all of them probably even before we'd fallen asleep the previous evening. But we still smelled the same. Methos seemed to like the scent of my favorite shower gel, and either his stinginess or taste made him use my aftershave, too. 

There was nothing you could see, but I'd still marked him in a way. Or we'd marked each other. It's said that scent is the most primitive sense. Underneath the soap, there was the scent of his skin that was unique, but I could still smell myself on him.

Wasn't really a good thought, when the day was just merely half way through. I wanted to move closer to him and touch him. Or _sniff_ him. That was even a worse thought. 

"Are you all right?" Methos looked concerned. "You look awfully flushed."

I glowered at him. "Just keep eating. We have classes to teach." 

He smiled knowingly, and concentrated on his food. I was glad he didn't continue on the subject. Not there and not then. My happy thoughts lasted until he finished and got up. There was no way in hell his leg could have brushed against my thigh in accident. I stifled the surprised gasp, and then glared at his back. 

When the classes ended, he was going to pay!

Considering the enthusiasm he displayed when we got home, he'd been counting on it.

It was slower this time. Yes, the madness was still there, burning just beneath the surface, but the all consuming urgency was gone. I had the chance to feel him everywhere, to touch him everywhere. And then bury myself deep inside him. 

Even though he'd made the quip earlier, I didn't take him seriously until the small tube of lubricant was pressend on my palm. Instead of questioning him, I let out a whoop of delight and took his offer. Among other things.

After I'd showed Methos how I felt about his teasing, we took a shower together, and then started to clean. Not because I really wanted to, but because the whole apartment was a mess. Broken glass and books on the floor, dirty dishes everywhere. Not to mention the extremely messy sheets on my bed. 

I vacuumed the kitchen floor, trying to get rid of all the shards, while Methos straightened the mementos and put all the books back to the shelf.

Then he stood in the middle of the loft, staring at the couch. 

I grinned as he started to yank the sheets off his makeshift bed. If it was up to me, he'd never sleep there again.

* * *

It was surprising how little our lives were actually changed by our new intimacy. Well, not counting the most obvious change, that is. 

I knew we'd both thought about it. Maybe that was the reason why our lives just went on. 

The spark that had ignited into a flame was still burning hotly. Now that we'd finally taken the last step, we were constantly touching. Kissing. Making love. But in a way, we acted more like an old married couple than newlyweds. 

In bed we _did_ act like a couple of teenagers. Can't deny it. Every time we were alone, sooner or later one of us started to yank the other one's clothes off. But there was no real change in the way we behaved otherwise. I didn't stop reminding Methos --or like he'd probably say, nagging at him-- about cleaning the mess he made. He didn't drop the sarcasm, or the messy habits. To be completely honest, it didn't surprise me. 

We'd been through too much together to start behaving any differently than we already did. 

I wasn't really surprised when I found myself anxious that Friday. It went a way over the usual worrying. I guess it was only natural. After all, I had the right to be nervous if my lover might be in danger.

Methos seemed to anticipate my feelings, and he spent the lunch hour with me, talking calmly about everyday things. 

Leaving to the afternoon's class was really hard, but I knew I couldn't follow him around the whole day. We both had work to do. Still, my lecture was a bit strained for the first hour or so. Then I choked in the middle of a sentence as I felt a Presence approaching. 

My students all turned to follow my gaze to the door, most of them looking surprised to see another professor sneaking inside the room with an apologetic look on his face. I couldn't hide the dazzling smile completely as Methos sat down and gestured me to continue. It was definitely easier to concentrate on the lecture now that I knew he was safe. 

After finishing the class, I waited for the kids to hurry out of the classroom, and then walked to Methos. "Thanks." 

"You're welcome." He grinned at me. "Not that you really need to thank me. I've always wanted to see you teach." The soft touch of his hand contradicted his flippant words. I was obviously not the only one who'd been worried.

Answering his grin, I guided him to the door. "Well, if that's the case, let's find out if there's something I can teach you when we get home." I laughed out loud when he muttered that it'd better not have anything to do with cleaning.

It didn't. 

When we got home, the first thing I did was to call Joe. I had to know if he had any information about the young Immortals. Even though it sounded like there was a busy night at the bar, my Watcher promised to try to find out if there was someone new in town. He called back in about half an hour, but the fact that he hadn't heard about anything didn't really make me relax. If Cassandra could avoid the Watchers, maybe the hunters could, too.

Methos and I spent the whole evening at the loft, mostly sitting together on the couch, pretending to watch TV, both lost in thoughts. It was really strange to cuddle there, with our swords right there on the table in front of us, reminding us of the danger. We didn't go beyond those comforting little caresses that night. Neither of us could relax enough to do anything else. 

At least nothing happened. There was no sign of trouble that weekend. It didn't mean that I could let my guard down completely, though. I knew that an uneventful weekend didn't mean that everything was all right. It meant that we'd have to worry about the hunters the next week, too.

I went jogging again on Sunday afternoon, this time alone. Methos took one look out of the window, and flatly refused to leave the house. I hesitated at the door for a minute, but then decided that I really needed the exercise. One last glance at my lover told me that he was perfectly safe at the loft, curled on the couch with a book in his hands, his ivanhoe on the coffee table and the familiar gun right there next to him.

Running was actually quite fun, even though it was really cold outside. It also gave me a chance to clear my mind of everything. Almost like meditation. There was nothing more than the movement of my feet and the sound of my heavy breathing.

Sweat was running down my back as I ran up the stairs to the loft. I enjoyed the feeling. Opening the door to face the muzzle of a gun didn't even make me flinch. I'd expected for it. 

"It's just me."

Methos smiled at me and put the gun down. Then he turned his attention back to the book he was reading. I shook my head and headed to the bathroom.

After a shower, I walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I wasn't really hungry, so I decided to relax for a moment before I started to make dinner. The best way to relax was to get close to Methos.

Padding across the loft again, I moved to the couch and then lay there, tangling one leg over the backrest, positioning my head on his lap. Methos glared at me, but didn't say anything. He just kept reading his book.

For some time I was content on lying there, watching him devour the heavy volume. I loved the way he concentrated on the text, his eyes following the lines with the speed that was quite astonishing. All that concentration was so in character for him. But after watching him for over half an hour, I felt I'd had done enough watching. It was time to touch, too.

It wasn't all that hard to roll on my stomach. I thought for a moment, weighing the different possibilities, and then squirmed against him, my hands lifting the hem of his oversized sweater. I'd always wondered if two people would fit into one of those sweaters. It was about time I found that out.

"Duncan!" Methos' voice was annoyed. "Stop squirming!"

I didn't pay any attention to him. Crawling under his sweater, I enjoyed the way his abdominal muscles twitched at my touch. He was wearing a T-shirt underneath his sweater, and I pushed that up, so I could nuzzle against his warm skin.

Methos jerked. " _Duncan_!" 

Something hit my head, and I winced. Maybe I should have asked him to put the book down before starting to play. It hadn't hit me all that hard, though, and I just mumbled, "Oops," before continuing my attack.

In the darkness, it was only me and his skin. I moved my hands up to his chest, and then began to caress all over him. Methos was still moving a little, but this time the soft noises he made weren't protesting. And the hands that grabbed my head weren't pushing me away, they were pulling me closer. I smiled, realizing just how funny it must look, him sprawled on the couch, holding a big bulge under his sweater. 

That made me notice the other bulge in the vicinity of my head. Well, now. This was going better than I'd thought. I lowered my head, so I could rest it on his belly, enjoying the moment, and wanting to hear him make one of those throaty sounds again. I heard that, but I also heard something else with my ear pressed against his stomach.

I raised my head, and shifted his sweater, so I could peek at him from the neckline. "Methos? Are you hungry?

The confused look on his face was better than I'd expected. "What?" Oh, and his voice was a hoarse imitation of the usually confident way he spoke.

"Your stomach is making this weird noise. Growling." My fingers were still caressing his skin, moving slowly towards his groin. "Would you like me to make you a sandwich?" 

"Very funny." After sliding his hand on my head, Methos pushed me downwards. "Now that you've spoiled my quality time with Tolstoi, you can entertain me."

"Mm hmm..." I hummed, and then started to work his pants open. 

* * *

I have to admit I cheated a little. Since Methos had lessons only in the morning, I gave my afternoon class an assignment, and basically played hooky. The old man thought the whole thing was amusing. Not bothering to spoil the day, I just grunted, and ignored his chuckling.

We had an early lunch at home, and after an hour of resting and other activities, we grabbed our swords and headed down to the dojo. 

No matter how many times we sparred, I couldn't find any pattern to Methos' moves. Well, except to expect the unexpected. His style of fighting was so completely different from mine, it was a joy to spar with him. Kept me on my toes.

Methos seemed to enjoy it, too. Especially when we'd been sparring for a few hours, both of us soaking with sweat, barely able to hold the swords. We didn't go that far often, because letting both of us get exhausted would be fatal if someone came to pick a real fight. But on those rare occasions it did happen, my friend seemed to have the time of his life. 

We'd decided early on that we wouldn't spend the whole day fighting. There were other things we had to take care of. Shopping, cleaning our weapons, cooking, a nice evening on the couch. So we worked up a light sweat with hand to hand combat and then got our swords.

I'd actually managed to pick up a few moves from the old man. Most of them were just variations to the ancient techniques my teachers had shown me over the years, but some of his parries were completely new to me. 

Moving across the dojo, we circled each other, both waiting for a perfect opportunity to strike. I noticed an opening in his defense and attacked, only to find out that he'd been counting on it. In just a few minutes his blade was on my throat. 

"Don't concentrate on beating your opponent! Wear him down. If you attack every time you think you have a great opportunity to do so, you'll lose your head." Methos was in full teacher mode again. 

I saluted him, not bothering to get defensive. He was right. "Yes, sensei."

He muttered something about cheeky youngsters, and then helped me up. It was a nice gesture. Also one I could use to show him that I really had paid attention to his teaching. Even though I preferred to fight by a code of honor, I could play dirty, too, and keeping a good hold on his hand, I threw him on the floor, moving my blade on his neck.

" _Very_ good!" Methos beamed at me.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get on with this. This time, we'll do it the way it's supposed to be done." I tried not to show my amusement. He'd sounded so proud of me. Like he was congratulating a dog who'd finally learned a new trick. Good boy, have a cookie.

We moved back and forth again, the air filling with sounds of steel hitting steel, and our heavy breathing. Methos did some pretty impressive lunges, but I blocked them with ease. He laughed as he recognized the way I parried him. It was the first time I used one of his unique moves against him.

Of course I should have known he also had a counter move to it. A few seconds later I dove to the floor as his blade swished dangerously close to my chest. He stepped back, allowing me to get up, and I gave him a slight smile.

Staring at each other, we resumed the circling. 

We both froze as the phone rang. I bowed a little, earning a smile from Methos, and then walked to the little office with him right behind me.

"MacLeod."

"It's me." 

"What's up, Joe?" His tone of voice made me frown.

"Mac, it's more serious than we thought." Joe was quiet for a moment. "I've just been reported that at least fifteen young Immortals are now following Cassandra. She's forming some kind of a cult, picturing Methos as the devil. And the youngsters believe her for some reason."

He didn't explain that, but we both knew just exactly how she had managed to convince so many people. The turn of the millennium gave her an advantage, making new Immortals willing to listen to her. The suggestive power of her Voice did the rest.

"Their Watchers haven't been able to figure out where they are. Most of the young ones disappeared in New York, but a few apparently joined her in Miami, and one even in San Francisco. She's moving around."

Damn! At least she was in the States, though. "Joe…"

"There's more." This time the silence stretched out even longer. "Two of my people have been killed by her followers. She knows about the Watchers, and she's made it clear that we are to be hunted as well." A tiny pause, and then, "Probably because she knows we're friends, and I'd keep you updated."

"What? She did _what_?" My voice was choked. I couldn't believe Joe was telling me the truth.

A deep sigh traveled through the phone lines. "You heard me right. Two dead, and her own Watcher is now missing." 

"I'm sorry, Joe. I really am." There was nothing more I could say. After all, it was from me she had first heard about the secret organization. _I_ had taken her to meet Joe.

"I know. But her actions aren't your fault."

If only I could make myself believe that. "They aren't?"

Joe's voice was firm as he repeated, "They aren't. Don't start to brood on it, it'll make things worse, you know."

His words did not convince me. I doubted they even convinced himself.

"The word's been passed around, and my people are now extra careful. I'll keep you posted." My Watcher was back in business mode. "Gotta go now."

"Thanks." I lowered the receiver, feeling stunned. God, could this thing get any worse? Cassandra sending young fools to kill Methos. Immortals killing Watchers. Something had to be done right now, until the whole world went straight to hell!

Methos stepped closer to me. "Duncan? Is everything all right?" 

"No." Turning around, I faced him, still holding my sword tightly in my grip. It was like that solid object was the only thing that kept me from drowning into this surreal joke my life had turned into. "Cassandra's people are killing Watchers now, and I… I have to do _something_ to stop her…" The problem was, that I had no idea what.

The hazel eyes bore into mine, and then turned to focus into my blade that was somehow poised to attack now. There was nothing but pain in his voice. "Is that what you want?"

I couldn't say a word. Surely all the emotion would have choked me.

"You have more of me than any other has ever had. I've given you my body, my heart, my soul." Methos' face twisted into a pained grimace for a moment, and then there was the usual mask in place again. "But as for my head, MacLeod… That's the one thing I can't give to you. And I won't let you take it either."

My sword fell on the floor. Even though I'd just been holding it, the mere feel of the unyielding steel made my skin crawl. Never again. I would never hold a sword against him again.

"Methos…" I held my empty hands out at him, silently asking his forgiveness. His ivanhoe clattered on the floor next to my katana, and then we were holding each other. A fierce embrace full of affirmation. When we were together, just the two of us, there was no need for blades. 

* * *

There was no trace of our usual banter the next morning, as Methos and I drove to work. We'd spent the previous evening just holding each other. It was the only way I knew to assure him that everything would be all right.

A nice gesture, but we both knew things were far from all right.

My students probably wished they'd stayed at home that day. I wasn't usually all that harsh a teacher, but that morning I was in no mood to listen to any chattering or comments that didn't have anything to do with the lesson. Realizing I was venting my frustrations on innocent young mortals, I sighed, and locked all personal feelings behind a door for the rest of the day.

I had to wait for Methos, and spent about half an hour organizing the books in the classroom. Then I took a few posters from the closet ready for the next day's lesson. 

One of those posters was a replica of Simberg's Wounded Angel. A somber painting, where two young boys carry a hurt angel on stretchers. I stood next to my desk for a long time, staring at it. Even though the Watchers were far from being angels, and they definitely didn't go to their work wearing a blindfold, the picture made me think about Joe. And in a way us all. The boys in the painting looked desperate as they carried the wounded angel, like they knew that there was no place to take him. Still, their code of honor didn't allow them to just leave him to die.

Just like Methos and I were trying to fight against Cassandra and her people, not knowing whom to fight, and how to defeat the threat. The only difference was that we didn't really have a choice now.

I was still staring at the poster when I felt a Presence. Turning to see Methos at the doorway, I tried to smile, and probably failed miserably.

"I think we should go to see Joe." My friend's voice was subdued. 

Yes, he was right. We should go there. Joe was more than my Watcher, he was also a friend. It was just that I couldn't help thinking that I was responsible of what was happening for his colleagues. No matter how he'd protested, I still felt it was my fault. And I hated the fact that there was nothing I could do. Nothing.

It made me feel so damn useless. 

"Yeah." Moving the poster so that it wouldn't fall, I sighed, and then followed Methos out of the classroom. At least we might offer Joe some comfort. 

When we arrived the bar, I found out that my Watcher didn't _need_ any comfort. He wasn't mourning, he was mad as hell. At first I thought he was mad at me, and some little part of me rejoiced at the thought. The one that wanted me to fall down on the ground and scream, 'mea culpa!' like it would do any good. My melodramatic thoughts were banished in a minute, though.

Methos walked to the counter, looking at the pile of papers in front of my furious Watcher. "Everything all right in here?"

"No!" Joe growled. " _Nothing's_ all right! Those damn idiots!" He waved his hands in the air and let out a stream of the most colorful expressions I'd ever heard from him. "... asses! I'd hoped they'd got rid of stupidity after the farce with the Council, but _no_!"

I had no idea what had gotten him so mad. My friend however seemed to be able to interpret him. "Another problem with our fellow Watchers?" Methos' voice --as well as his expression-- was sarcastic.

Joe nodded, a similar look on his face. "Stupid idiots! No matter what, I couldn't make the central department to issue a warning to everyone in this continent. 'Too risky', they say. An open communication like that will just expose our operatives. I mean, can you believe that? Of all the hypocrisy..." He lapsed back to swearing.

He ranted for a while. Then he seemed to collapse against the counter like a balloon that just lost its air. 

"Let me guess." The old man moved to the other side of the counter to pour Joe a drink. "You've been up all night, making those calls yourself."

Smiling gratefully at Methos, Joe nodded. "Yep. The problem is that there's no way I could reach everyone. We're constantly on the move, following our Immortals." He took a sip from the glass, the pale liquid bringing some color to his cheeks. "And some of the ones I did manage to contact, well, let's just say that my reputation isn't the best among us. I doubt many of them believed I was serious."

"What about Cassandra's Watcher?" I was half afraid he'd say she'd been killed, too. It would have been logical. 

Unfortunately my fears weren't completely groundless. "I haven't been able to contact her. Seems to me that she's disappeared from the face of the earth." My Watcher sighed, and then drank again.

Soon after that he excused himself, staggering towards his office. I exchanged a look with Methos, and then went to get the car right in front of the bar. My friend went to get Joe. The mortal looked half asleep as he was escorted to the car.

When he was safely home, I drove us to the loft. I was feeling melancholy and didn't say a word during the drive. 

Methos wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we entered the building and I accepted his gesture with a sigh.

"We're all doing our best, Mac. You, me, Joe. It's not our fault if the Watchers refuse to listen to him." A soft kiss on my cheek. "It's not _your_ fault."

I burrowed even closer to him, wanting to believe it to be true.

From that on, we included a quick visit at Joe's to our daily routine. We stopped by on our way home to hear the news on the Watchers. 

I was relieved when there was no more reports on Watchers being killed by crazed Immortals. In a way, the sudden silence also worried me. Going after mortals had been a hint of what was happening next. A kind of warning. Whatever would come after that would be even worse. 

As the week rolled by, I found myself waiting for Friday evening with mixed feelings. Dread and anticipation. I didn't want to face another hunter, but then again the sooner we faced whatever Cassandra had planned for us, the sooner it would all be over.

When Friday came and went by without an incident, I could have screamed. For relief or frustration? I had no idea. 

* * *

Feeling lazy, and annoyed, and just so damn tired of everything, I spent most of the Saturday moping around. I didn't get out of the bed until noon, dragging myself to the couch to stare at the TV. 

Methos joined me there in a while, and we both sat there brooding. 

In the long run that kind of behavior would be bad for you, but I must say that it felt wonderful to act just as moodily as I felt. I knew there were at least half a dozen things that demanded my attention from work related paperwork to cleaning, but I just didn't have the strength to even think about doing anything. 

Somewhere around the evening news I finally shrugged the moodiness off and went to make us dinner. After eating and washing the dishes, I found myself back on the coach, though.

Well, even I had the right to laze if I wanted to.

As I sprawled on the couch, Methos busied himself by checking out all his weapons, amusing me with silly stories about his past. I loved listening to him talk. Not just the stories, but his voice, too. It was calming, relaxing. I closed my eyes, letting his voice roll all over me like a caress.

When the old man was satisfied with the condition of his weapons, he spent about half an hour organizing his papers, and then his clothes. It was like he was feeling restless for some reason. I didn't question him, though. I just turned my attention back on the TV as he scurried around the room.

I'd poured myself a glass of whiskey earlier, to calm my nerves and bring back some of the peace I felt when I tasted that familiar smokey flavor. When Methos passed me by again and then handed me another glass of the pale liquid, I raised my eyebrows. "Are you trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?" 

Instead of a flippant reply, Methos shook his head, looking serious. "No. You know I'm not." He backed away, heading towards the fridge to get himself a bottle of beer. 

Knowing that he could well hear me, I muttered, "Well, that's too bad." With that I sat down on the couch. 

Any hint of fear I'd once felt for him and his touch had dissipated weeks earlier. Still, the memory of it was there between us. Not in everything, no. Not all the time. But I'd noticed how Methos shied away from one aspect of our lovemaking, like he was afraid of it. Or more likely, like he thought _I_ was afraid of it.

There was no fear in me. Not an ounce. Just a little trepidation, and even that wasn't about his touch. It was more about us talking the whole thing to death, or taking the whole thing as an act we had to perform, instead of just going on with it. I loved the sex we were having, but the Quickening I'd taken was still haunting us. I guess neither of us knew how to deal with it. Methos hadn't made one move to really make love to me, probably fearing that I might freak out. I didn't know how to approach the matter without making it sound really awkward.

Sometimes I wondered if I should just grab the lubricant, and then hold my katana on his neck and threaten to behead him if he didn't get inside me. Then again, that might have been a bit too drastic.

Methos had stopped mid way to the fridge, cocking his head. He was obviously thinking very hard about something. Then he closed the distance between him and the cold bottle of beer. 

Too bad. For a moment there I'd hoped he'd come back to me.

I made room for him, knowing that he'd need more than half the couch for his usual sprawl. But instead of getting straight back, he padded to the liquor cabinet before joining me on the couch. 

"Wouldn't want to disappoint you." He held the bottle of Scotch up for me to see and then lowered in to the table. Then he sat on the couch, positioning himself so that our thighs touched. A wiggle later his whole body was melded against mine.

Sipping my drink, I smiled to him, and then planted a kiss on his cheek. "Good. I've been waiting for this for a long time." My voice was full of hunger. Realizing how needy I must sound, I felt heat rise to my cheeks.

"You have?" There was curiosity in Methos' gaze as he turned to meet my eyes. Then a broad smile appeared on his face as he noticed my expression. "My Gods, Highlander. You're blushing."

Oh, really? How perceptive of him. "Yes I am." I couldn't help feeling a little annoyed. After all, I felt like I'd just made a fool out of myself, and it was definitely not what I'd aimed for. "Now, are we going to bed, or do you want to watch the late night news?" 

There was probably more signs of my irritation in my voice than I'd planned to let show. The smile on Methos' face turned from amused to something quite different. Something that made me blush even more. "I'm ready to go to bed if you are, Duncan." If I'd thought _I_ sounded hungry, he was starving. 

Careful not to bump into the table and make another mess, I got to my feet and held out my hand for him. "Come on, Methos. Let's go."

He barely had the self control to turn the TV off before hurrying after me.

We almost didn't make it to the bed. Methos' hands were all over me the moment we were at a safe distance from anything fragile, and we were literally tearing our clothes off. It was Methos' voice that made me want to slide to the floor and have him on the carpet, though.

As he pulled my T-shirt off, his lips brushed against my ear, his breath making shivers run down my spine. "You really do want me to make love to you?"

"Yes..." I whimpered, seeking his mouth with mine. The kiss was long and hard, just the way I needed it to be. 

Then his lips were back against my ear. "I want to make love to you, too. I want to hold you, touch you, be inside you..." Nimble fingers were already popping the buttons of my jeans open.

I was helping him as well as I could considering the way my knees started to buckle. Yes, I wanted that, too. "Methos..." 

He helped me by stepping out of his pants and then focused his gaze on mine. "Yes?"

It made me moan. Yes, indeed. "Now! Bed." I pulled him towards the said piece of furniture. The lubricant was in the top drawer of the nightstand, so we needed to get closer to the small table. From this angle, the fastest route was to crawl over the bed. Besides, I was pretty sure that when we were finished, I would be too exhausted to get up from the hard floor. 

"Bed is good..." There was no sarcasm in his voice. He managed to fling his boxers to the couch, my underwear following them a second later. Then we collapsed on the bed.

Keeping my mind firmly set on the need to feel him inside me, I didn't let myself get carried away as we kissed and caressed each other. It wasn't all that easy. Crawling across the bed, I had to remind myself of what we should really do as Methos' hands snaked everywhere. Finally I did manage to get the tube out of the drawer, though. 

The reality of what we were doing seemed to hit my friend, and some flicker of reason flashed in his eyes. "Duncan... You really want to do this?"

For crying out loud... " _Yes_! I want you. Inside me. Making love to me." I grabbed a hold of his hand and pressed the tube on his palm, closing his fingers over it. "You in me. Now."

Squeezing the tube, Methos leaned closer to me and kissed me. Then he scrambled a little farther from me. A burning gaze slid over me, the look a caress on its own. "Yes." He took a few breaths as if to calm himself. 

Well, finally! We were _finally_ going to... I mean, he was going to... Feeling like a total idiot, I admitted to myself that I had no idea how we'd proceed now. This was something I'd always experienced from the other side. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, if anything. 

"How? I mean, how…" I swallowed as I saw the twinkle in his eyes. Damn it. "How do you want me?"

Methos ran his fingers down my cheek. "In every way, Duncan." His thumb caressed my lips, and I had to resist the urge to bite him. "But for tonight, whatever you want is fine."

That was the problem. I _wanted_ it, but I had no idea how to actually get there. "Methos!"

"Yes?" No mockery, only amusement. "Do you expect me to do all the work here? What? Do I look like an instructor of…" His voice died out as he reached the most obvious conclusion.

My cheeks were burning, but I was determined not to let my embarrassment stand in my way. "Well, I guess one of us has to know what he's doing here." Not every Immortal has done everything there is to do in bed with another person. Just because he wasn't actually my first man didn't mean I was well versed in every single aspect of lovemaking with one. 

This went a _way_ beyond anything I'd ever tried. I wasn't exactly embarrassed about the fact that I had never had sex like that with another man, but saying it to him wasn't all that easy.

Methos leaned closer to me, planting a slow, sensuous kiss on my lips. "This is not a martial arts lesson, Mac." There were no more words as his mouth claimed mine again, and there was no need for them. 

It was seduction. Lingering touches, kisses. There was no need to worry about anything, for Methos' touches made all the thoughts disappear from my head. The only thing I could concentrate on was trying to answer his every single caress. 

Instead of feeling like he was making love _to_ me, it was making love _with_ him. All the control he had over my body was control I had given him. A mutual act of pleasure. 

The slow touches moved all over my body, followed by lips. Even though I was already shivering with anticipation, I knew that there would be no rushing tonight. We both wanted it to be as perfect as it could be. Methos would have to maintain some kind of control over his actions, and I'd have to relax and let him. 

Just the kind of thought that brought a hint of tension back to me. To banish all such thoughts from my head, I pulled Methos up for a kiss, and then nodded to him. It was definitely the time. 

There was no laughter in the hazel eyes now. "I think it would be best if you..." He made a vague gesture with his hand.

I interpreted it as a suggestion to roll over, and turned around before he could finish his sentence. My heart was pounding loudly as I knelt on the bed, trying really hard not to think of how I must have looked like. I was scared, no doubt about that. Scared, and feeling really awkward. Once again, not something I was used to.

"Duncan? Are you really sure about this?"

The concern in his voice made me relax a little. I nodded vigorously. "Yes. Come on, Methos. I've been thinking of this for days now." Nothing happened, so I added a little more strongly, "I want you!"

A sharp intake of breath was the only answer I got. Then he was pressing against me, wrapping his arms around my chest, nuzzling my neck. 

"Yes." His voice was a sibilant whisper. "And I want you. I've wanted you for _years_. Gods, Duncan. To have you here like this…" Methos planted a kiss below my ear, obviously at a loss for words.

The touch of his lips was followed by another. A tiny pause, and then more kisses and caresses across my neck. Again a pause, and then his hands brushed my shoulder blades. 

I crossed my arms on the pillow and lowered my head to rest on them. It was a little weird to just wait for his touch, not being able to see him, or touch him back. But he could still see me. And his hands could roam all over my naked body. I had given him the liberty of doing whatever he wanted to me. 

Whatever I wanted him to do to me.

The soft caresses and the feather-like kisses were moving down my back now. I groaned, grabbing the pillow even harder as he reached my buttocks. God, I wanted him there. 

Yes, and apparently so did he. Methos followed the path his hands had made with his lips, and reached for the small tube, still kissing my back. 

The first touch of his slick fingers against my arse blew my mind. I don't know another way to put it into words. Not exactly pain, not pleasure either. But I was certain we were heading towards that. I felt my muscles spasm, and then he was touching me from inside, his touch making me gasp for air.

I could feel my body flush, as waves of warmth rushed over me. Not a blush of embarrassment. I was feeling incredibly hot, needy. 

Methos' mouth moved to my neck, as he continued making me ready him. I craned my neck, and captured his lips for a long, lingering kiss. When I had to break the kiss for a breath of air, I saw the most amazing look on his face. Joy, lust, a tiny bit of smugness, and that warm expression he sometimes had when we were just being together, not really doing anything. I smiled at him, not even minding the smugness. At the moment, he really had a very good reason for it.

Then he moved a little farther from me, returning a second later with a slightly different touch. 

I rocked against his hand, desperately trying to get him deeper inside of me. The feeling was incredible. Those long, nimble fingers I'd watched so many times, now making me squirm with ecstasy. 

"More..." I couldn't believe I'd made that sound. It had been so clear in my mind, but what came out bore little resemblance to the actual word. It was a needy groan. Still, if there was only one word I could have uttered that moment, 'more' would have definitely been it. 

There was a soft touch of lips on my lower back, followed by a gentle nip of sharp teeth. The hands never stilled, the one roaming all over my heated body, the other one stroking me inside. Smooth thrusts that were preparing me for something else. 

It was time for that something else. Otherwise I would have come just from the touch of his fingers, and the feel of his warm body right next to me. 'More' changed into 'now', and then there were no more words, as the only sounds I could make were pleading moans.

The feeling of loss swept over me as Methos moved, taking away his touch. I was about to protest, to turn over and reclaim his skin against mine, when the feel of his body was back, this time fully against me. Not caring how it looked like, I arched my back, spreading my legs to accommodate him better. My friend shifted his position, and I could feel his touch on my shoulder, his chest pressed against my back, his hardness pushing between my buttocks. Yes! Almost there. I squirmed against him, wordlessly begging him to continue.

"Duncan. Say my name." Methos' voice was husky. His breath tickled my ear as he leaned closer. "Nothing will happen until you say it. I need to hear…"

Did he really think I was in any shape to form coherent words at the moment? I was so lost in the sensations, that if he'd asked anything else, I probably wouldn't have been able to give him the correct answer. But the one thing I did know, was who was making me feel like this, who was driving me crazy with need. Who was making love to me. 

" _Methos_!" Not able to say it, I howled his name, and then whimpered it over and over again, until he entered me. 

The feeling was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. A slight burning, yes, but not really painful. He was filling me, surrounding me. I couldn't help moaning as I felt his body mold against mine, his chest against my back. 

He leaned against me, letting me get familiar with him inside me. His deep even breaths rocked us together, as he tried to compose himself. It felt wonderful. A living, breathing Methos-blanket covering me, cradling me. 

Moving inside me. Just the slightest of movements at first, then a deeper thrust, a deliberate move that first left me empty and then filled me again. His hands were slick on my skin, holding me against him. Steadying me, when I started to move against him.

God! I'd put myself completely in his hands, trusting him, inviting him inside my body. And he was more than worthy of my trust. 

I rubbed my face on the pillow, concentrating on the feelings those skillful hands were now bringing to me. I had nothing else to focus on. Only his touch inside me, and his hand on my erection, driving me towards completion.

My whole world narrowed on those sensations. 

And right there with the ecstasy came the fear. Waves after waves of terror, threatening to drown me in the intensity of it all. "Methos…" The terrified sound of my own voice echoing in the room.

Methos' hand brushed up my side, soothing me. "Duncan. Do you want me to stop?"

" _No_!" I didn't want him to stop. Ever. It was just that continuing was almost as terrifying as the idea of stopping. He was driving me towards something, some state of existence, where I would surely lose all control, everything that ground me. All that made me who I was. It was so much more intense than I'd ever imagined, and right then I thought that it would shatter me.

There was no sign of Methos' usual control in the ragged voice that sobbed, "Thank Gods!" Then he started to move faster, as if driven forward by some desperate need. 

I focused on the emotion behind that exclamation, reveling in the fact that he was as far gone as I was. No, I wasn't alone in this. He'd be there with me, no matter what. Just as overwhelmed as I was. His lips were brushing against my ear, and as he started to convulse on top of me, he whispered, "Duncan…" 

Yes. Oh, God, yes! Knowing that he'd be holding me when it was all over, I let go and felt the hot waves of my climax carry me away from there, to that place where everything is safe, and I didn't have to think of anything.

The sound of light snoring greeted me when I could once again focus on reality. I turned to my side to see Methos fast asleep, smiling as he curled there next to me, one arm wrapped around my chest. 

I closed my eyes, enjoying the peace of that moment.

* * *

As the next week began, we found ourselves short tempered and snappish without any apparent reason. The peace I'd felt during the weekend had disappeared somewhere.

I didn't know what exactly bugged Methos, but I as sure as hell knew why I was mad. The beginning of yet another week of worrying made me think of all those weeks we'd already spent on our toes. Weeks upon weeks, the chilly air underlining the passage of time, and I was startled to realize it had been almost three _months_! 

Since screaming at the walls wasn't as satisfying as having a fight with another person, I took my frustration out in Methos. He looked almost happy when I yelled at him over some papers that evening, and then started yelling back. 

When we were both out of steam, we did some serious kissing and making up. 

The next day went by without incidents. I was a little embarrassed of the way I'd exploded at Methos, and made sure we didn't have any reason to fight again. We spent some time exercising downstairs, exhausting ourselves, and then crawled to bed early. 

I woke up when it was still completely dark. A quick glance at the clock told me it was barely four thirty. Moving as quietly as I could, I slipped out of the bed, and walked to the bathroom. After relieving myself, I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and then returned to the bed. 

Methos had fidgeted while I'd been gone, and he was now curled to his side, hugging the covers. I stroke his arm gently, and when he released his death grip on the sheets, I wrapped the blanket around him again. Then I lowered myself on the mattress. My lover mumbled something, but didn't wake up.

I lay there, listening to his even breathing. That sound was so familiar to me by then, that I seriously doubted I could sleep well without hearing it.

Strange, in only a few short months I'd gotten used to Methos' constant presence in my life, in my home. He was still annoying as hell at times, but I was beginning to accept that as a part of him. Well, I accepted it when I just thought about it, actually. When he did annoy me, I still wanted to rattle him.

It was almost like living with Tessa, except for the fear of somehow ruining his life by being who and what I was. Quiet evenings spent together, the talks we had of our work. The feeling of belonging I had with him. I'd been missing that for years.

My eyes went wide open with that thought, all hopes of falling asleep again fleeing from me. I felt a shiver run down my spine. Did I really compare my friend and the woman I'd loved like no other?

Moving quietly so I wouldn't wake Methos up, I slipped out of the bed again and then padded to the couch. I needed to think about it. _Really_ think about it with no diversions. 

What was this thing between Methos and me anyway? There was a hell of a lot attraction. Lust, definitely. Trust. That was maybe the most important thing we could have. Affection. 

I stared at the beam of light that shined in from a street lamp, and thought about that combination of emotions. It summed up as what?

Fiercely loyal friendship? Like with Fitz? Yes, well I never dragged Fitz into bed now did I? On other aspects it would have worked rather well as an explanation. After all, Methos was the only person who had ever annoyed me as much as my happy go lucky friend.

Besides Amanda, of course. 

I shook my head. Methos was nothing like her. And my feelings towards him were far from those I had for that beautiful little imp. I loved her, but she was impossible to live with. I loved Methos, but…

My _God_ ! I. Loved. Methos.

Damn it! Of course I loved him. Wasn't that obvious? I'd loved him for a long time now. Why else would his past have hurt me so much? For it had hurt. Still did in a way. But I'd accepted the killer he'd been as a part of him and what had made him who he now was. And wasn't that another proof of my feelings?

After all that we'd been through, I wouldn't have re- invited him to my life if I'd just been mildly fond of him. 

And I didn't love him just as a friend. There was a difference in loving someone and being in love. I did love Amanda, but I was pretty sure I wasn't in love with her. Not really. I didn't want to share my life with her, after all. Or if it had been a dream once, it had never turned into reality, or even a conscious wish. We'd had fun together, but it was never more than that. Could never be more.

With Methos… With him, I had a chance on something I'd never dared to even dream about. 

Groaning, I lowered my head on my hands. What was I thinking about? There was a reason I'd never found a permanent lover from the ranks of the Immortals. Fear of commitment, I guess. Not only of being attached to another person for hundreds of years, but also for depending everything on them. The fear of being a part of something bigger than you are. Of forgetting what it's like to be yourself, and not just a part of 'us'.

It was a vicious circle, actually. With mortals, you could only have a passing moment. Then the moment's gone, and we have to move on. But with Immortals, there would really be eternity, and like Methos had once said, you had to love someone a hell of a lot to spend centuries with them.

Did I love him that much? Could I love him any _less_ than that? I had no idea. All I knew was that I wanted him to be a part of my life. Not for a few months. For a lot longer.

We'd been through a lot during these years we'd known each other. Some good, but most of it bad. Still, there he was, still with me. The man who had turned running and hiding into an art form was staying with me, facing his enemies. I was pretty sure he'd be in touch with me for as long as we both lived. 

Maybe there was a possibility for us to try out something neither of us had dared to try before. A real relationship with an Immortal. A relationship, where we would both know where we stood from the beginning.

I walked back to the bed and stood there, staring at Methos. He looked so peaceful sleeping there. He looked like he belonged there. 

A smile formed on my lips. I was in love with Methos. Yes. It sounded right. Felt right, too. 

Who would have thought about that?

Even though I wanted nothing more than to slide back under the covers, I walked away from the bed, and put on a pair of sweatpants. I was suddenly full of energy, and I had to put it into something. Deep inside I knew that it didn't mean another romp with the man I loved --damn, even the thought of that made me smile-- so I thought about something else. 

Knowing that not even wild horses could drag Methos up at that time, I sneaked out of the loft into the dojo area to have my daily work out. After all, I did have an hour and a half until I would have had to wake up, I might even manage more than a few simple stretches. Sleeping was out of the question now. There was no way I could have fallen asleep after my little revelation. 

I worked up a sweat, and then spent some time stretching. No matter how skilled or strong you were, a muscle cramp in the middle of a fight would be fatal. It felt good to start the day so vigorously. Unlike some people, I never could spend the whole morning in bed. Well, without some exercise, that is.

Glancing at the clock, I grabbed a towel, and wiped my face on it. I headed towards the elevator, wondering if Methos was up already, or if I'd have to make the coffee myself. 

Well, at least I could make sure he got up by using the elevator. I moved my hand towards the button, and then froze.

Here? In my _home_? I spun around, throwing the towel to the ground, and took a good hold on the hilt of my sword. Someone was coming, and I could bet they weren't just making a courtesy call. 

"Hello? Mac? Is that you?" The sharp blade came in sight first. A redheaded man followed it, with a curious expression on his face. When he saw me stand there, he put his sword back under his coat. "Hi there." 

"Richie!" I smiled and lowered my sword. "When did you get back from Greece?"

He grinned at me. "About a week ago. I spent some time at the East Coast before getting here."

"Damn, it's good to see you again. You're not in trouble, are you?" It was a habit by now to ask that question. I really _was_ glad to see him, but usually when he dropped by, he wasn't just making a friendly visit.

"Gee, thanks, Mac. Make a guy feel welcome, won't ya!" It was clear that he wasn't at all offended by my question. "And no, I'm not in any trouble. Actually I've never been better."

I smiled. "That's good to hear." It was. My student could really attract trouble. "You're up early. Have you eaten yet? Or do you want some breakfast?"

Grinning, Richie shook his head. "Haven't had a bite yet. Sure, if you're cooking, I'd love to have some breakfast."

Some things never changed. His appetite was one of those things. "It's a deal." I saw the bag at the doorway, where he'd obviously dropped it when he'd felt my Presence, and nodded towards it. "Get your stuff and we'll go up. You can tell me all about your holiday while I cook."

"Sounds good. I do have some pretty amazing things to tell you."

There was that goofy expression on his face again. It could mean only one thing. "You met someone?" I could definitely see a pattern here.

"Yeah." Richie sighed dreamily. "She's wise, gentle, beautiful…" His voice drifted away as he stared at the distance, lost in thoughts.

I shook my head, amused of the tone of his voice. The fact that he'd once again fall head over heals surprised me, though. I'd thought he'd grown out of that phase when he had the crush on every female he saw. He looked so young acting like that, all traces of cocky Richard Redstone gone. "Are you sure you have time for breakfast. Can you stay for a while, or is she waiting for you?"

He didn't answer. Probably too preoccupied by his thoughts about the lovely lady to even hear my question. 

"Okay, Romeo. Back to the real world." I nudged him with my elbow, and laughed out loud as he flustered. "She really must be something."

"Yeah, she is."

"I'm happy for you, Rich." After all the disastrous romances he'd had, I just wished this time he'd be able to spend more than a few months with that new love of his. 

Like I'd had with the one I'd discovered. The one who'd apparently waken up, and was now coming to find me. I didn't even bother to turn when I felt the Presence. The sound of the elevator that accompanied the buzzing feeling told me who it was. 

Noticing my relaxed stance, Richie raised an eyebrow. "You have a guest staying over?"

"You could say that." Now it was my turn to try that goofy smile. 

"Oh." He smirked. "A lady friend?"

Laughing, I shook my head. "No. Definitely not a lady friend." Thank God Methos didn't hear that. He'd either pout, or tease me mercilessly. Now all I had to think of was a way to explain Richie the changes in our relationship. Somehow I didn't think we could keep it a secret. Especially if my student came upstairs with us.

Richie kept staring at the elevator, curiosity and amusement plainly written on his face. I could hear the wooden gate being raised, and was just going to say something about Methos' presence there, when my former student suddenly reached to under his coat for his sword. The change in his expression made me shiver. Instead of a young lovesick man, there was now a killer standing in front of me.

"You!" The redhead's voice was low, menacing. 

Methos raised an eyebrow. "What about me?"

I had a bad feeling about it. The whole scene was like a déjà-vu. 

"You are a dead man. Pull out your sword, Methos, and fight to the death." Richie balanced his own sword in his hand, measuring the man standing behind me.

No! Cassandra had gone definitely too far. To send my student to kill my lover went beyond a reasonable vengeance. It went beyond decency and sanity. "Richie, no!"

The icy blue eyes focused on me. "You can't interfere, Mac. This is between him and me. Isn't that what you taught me? A fight is between two Immortals, and we fight until there's only one." His voice was cold.

"I will not fight with you, kid." Methos stepped next to me. "The fight I have is with Cassandra, and you can go tell her that if she wants me dead, she'd better come for me herself." 

"So you want to fight against a helpless woman?" Richie raised his sword.

I couldn't let things go any further. "Richie, he's not your enemy! There's no reason for you to kill him. Cassandra's using you to destroy a nightmare she's clinging to. The man she wants to hurt died long before either of us was born."

"Stay out of this, Mac."

"No, I won't stay out of this! If you had a reason to fight Methos, I would, but you're just a puppet. She's _using_ you." He had to listen to reason. "You would kill a man who's saved both my life and Joe's. Not to mention your friend, Maria. Without Methos, Kristen would have kept coming for her _and_ you. You know that!"

For a moment I thought I'd reached Richie from behind all the walls Cassandra had built around him. He lowered his sword a little, a glimpse of his real self showing behind the mask of hate. Then, like some invisible force was moving him, he straightened, and the blade was once again poised for fight. "That's irrelevant. There's nothing you can say to change my mind."

"Richie, he's my _friend_. I love him."

Methos let out an almost inaudible gasp. I guess it wasn't exactly the way I'd wanted to tell him that. It was the truth, though.

Richie laughed. I'd never heard such an ugly sound from his mouth. "Don't you see, Mac? You're the one who's being used." He glowered at Methos. "You never change. Draw your sword, and let's get this over with."

"You will not fight in my home." My voice was cold, reflecting the feeling inside of me. It was inconceivable that he'd challenged my friend right in front of my eyes, and even expected Methos to fight him right there and then. No. No way in hell. I had to buy us all some time, and then try to get the real Richie back. I knew he would never do anything like this if he were himself. 

There had to be something of my young student left behind the façade Cassandra had built. I'd seen glimpses of his true self, like that moment when my words seemed to penetrate the shields around his mind. No, there would be no bloodbath in my home.

"Fine!" The redhead spat. "In the old warehouse at the corner of Beckham and 6th. At noon. Be there."

Methos tilted his head on the side, almost like nodding.

Richie shoved his sword inside his coat, and backed to the door. Before stepping out, he warned, "If he runs, I'll come for your head instead, MacLeod." 

His Presence faded, but the coldness his words had brought remained at the dojo. Methos was still staring at the door, his right hand twitching a little. I walked to him, and touched his shoulder, relieved as he moved his hand up to cover mine.

"I'd better call Joe."

Methos nodded, not even turning to face me. "You do that."

I walked to my office, controlling the urge to slam the glass door closed behind me. I picked up the phone, dialing to the bar before realizing that it wasn't even open yet. Dialing again, I finally reached Joe at his home. He sounded a little cranky as he answered, "Yeah, what?" He'd probably been still sleeping.

"Joe it's me. We have a problem." I didn't even wait for him to ask. "Cassandra's got a hold over Richie, and he just challenged Methos."

There was a brief silence. Then his voice came as a hesitant whisper. "What happened?"

"They'll fight later today. At the docks." 

"What can I do?" Joe offered his help without a moment to doubt the wisdom of it. Friendship before Watcher oath. 

We hadn't talked about it with Methos, but there was only one thing my Watcher could do to help us. "Last time she was here, we were able to track her through her Watcher. I know you said she's been missing, but can you try it anyway? Or if you can find Richie's, he could have an idea where to find her. Can you do that? If you find her, I'll handle the rest."

"Sure thing, Mac."

I didn't lower the receiver, but dialed again. This time it was a cheery woman's voice that answered me instead of a sleepy Watcher. The Dean wasn't in yet, so I left her a message that we wouldn't be able to come to work today. I didn't really care how they'd interpret the fact that I was calling for the both of us at the university. Rumors about the two of us were probably flying all over the faculty by now anyway. For once, those rumors would even be true.

The dojo was empty when I stepped out of the office. I looked around, and then sighed with relief as I noticed that the elevator was back up at the loft. I didn't bother to call it back down, instead I climbed the stairs, hurrying to Methos' side as fast as I could.

When I reached the loft, I saw that my fear of him running away had been unnecessary. The familiar buzz of a Presence greeted me as I opened the door.

Methos was standing by the wall, staring out of the window. He glanced over his shoulder, but when he saw it was just me, he turned his attention back to the view outside.

Walking right there behind him, I circled my arms around his waist. "What will you do?" As soon as I finished my question, I could feel him tense. "Methos..."

"Do you trust me?" 

Yes. I lowered my cheek on his shoulder, still hugging him. "I do." Funny. He was probably the most devious man I knew, and I trusted him anyway. Trusted him with my life. 

The slender body relaxed a little. "Then let me handle this on my own way. No questions."

No questions? But I had to know what he was going to do. "But..." He squirmed in my arms, turning to face me. The look in his eyes silenced me. Actually, I couldn't say anything for the lump in my throat. 

"Trust me. No questions."

There was nothing I could do but to nod. I did trust him. More than that. I loved him. And for that, I had to trust him in this. All right. No questions.

Methos leaned closer, and then kissed me. A long, soft kiss. Just his lips on mine. When he broke the kiss, he moved away from me, and then walked to the bathroom without a word.

Sighing, I went to make us some coffee. When Methos came back to the loft, I went to take a shower. 

I didn't waste much time scrubbing myself clean. It didn't feel right to leave Methos alone. Even though he didn't want to talk, I wanted to be there for him. So as soon as I'd rinsed all the lather from my body, I toweled myself dry in record time, and hurried to the loft pulling my shirt on. 

We sat there in silence, both contemplating the situation, I guess. Since my friend's expression was totally blank, I couldn't tell what he was thinking, though. 

My mind was trying to find some kind of a loophole out of this mess. Minutes ticked by, but I couldn't find any. 

The ringing of the phone jarred me out of my thoughts. I went to answer it, praying that it would be Joe and that he'd have good news. 

It was my Watcher, but unfortunately the news weren't good.

"I still haven't been able to contact Cassandra's Watcher." Joe sounded annoyed. "I did talk to the one assigned to Richie. He wasn't much help. Apparently he hasn't heard about the danger she poses, or seen anyone who'd match her descriptions."

"We need to find her now, Joe!" Even as I snarled that to him, I knew it was practically impossible to reach Cassandra before the time was out.

"I _know_ that! Damn it, Mac, you know I'm doing the best that I can."

The words about his best not being good enough were at my tongue. The frantic tone of his voice made me swallow them, though. He was just as worried of Methos and Richie as I was. "Yeah, I know that. Just..."

Joe sighed. "I'll make some calls." He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "What's Methos going to do?" 

"I'm not sure. He... He'll probably go there." It was so frustrating not to know it for sure, but I couldn't ask him again. 

"He's... He's not planning on..." My Watcher left it hanging there. 

It was a sentence I couldn't finish either. "I don't know, Joe." I hoped not. 

"For God's sake, Mac! You don't _know_? Then ask him!"

"I can't." Methos had asked me to trust him. I would not betray that trust. No matter how I wanted to beg him not to do... Anything, really. "He has to decide what to do on his own." I had to add that. Knowing Joe, he would have asked me to beg Methos to leave Richie be. I couldn't do that either. 

He was quiet for a moment. Then, after clearing his throat, he muttered, "Let me know what happens." Without waiting for my reply, he hung up. 

I lowered the receiver and turned to look at Methos. He was looking straight back at me. I noted, "That was Joe. He..."

"I heard." He nodded. "Didn't really have my hopes up high on him finding Cassandra." Smiling cynically he got to his feet and headed towards the closet. 

Watching him grab clean clothes, I stood there for a moment, and then walked to the kitchen, even though I definitely wasn't hungry. I managed to eat a piece of toast and drank another cup of coffee. My friend declined the offer when I asked him if I could make him some breakfast. 

After I'd rinsed the cup, I looked nervously around and then checked the time.

It was almost noon. Methos had finished dressing, and was now putting his shoes on. I could clearly see him tense as I stepped next to him and bent down to grab my shoes.

"Don't. I don't want you there."

I froze. "I have to come, Methos. Maybe there's a way to end this whole thing right now."

"There is a way." It was clear what he meant with it. "I don't want to kill him, but if I have to choose between him and you…"

"But maybe you don't _have_ to choose. We could go to my island and wait until Cassandra comes to her senses." I was getting rather desperate now.

Methos shook his head slowly. "That won't work, and you know it. If we run, she'll find a way to hurt us both. What if she comes for Joe? Or Amanda? How about your kinsman Connor? What if they come after you next? No. If I come back alive, we'll find her and deal with her. If I don't…"

I waited for a moment for him to finish that. When he didn't, I forced myself to ask, "Then what?" The fact that he even suggested something like that chilled me. He could defeat Richie easily, but the question was, could he really bring himself to take his head? And if he did, would he come back to me, knowing how I felt about my former student? Knowing that he was putting me and my loved ones in danger, too.

Straightening his back, Methos sighed, "Then remember me."

With a strangled sob I reached out for him, and pulled him into an embrace.

I held him in my arms, not wanting to let him go. He wasn't going to face an unknown enemy, he was going to have a fight with the young man who had been like a son to Tessa and me. A man I still loved like a brother. My mind was in turmoil. I had never felt like that before. No matter who won the fight, I'd lose more than I could imagine.

"Duncan. I have to go." Methos' voice was hushed, but firm. "You have to let me go."

With one final squeeze I let my hands fall to my sides. I watched him put his coat on, and then slip his sword under it. There was nothing I could say to him, except tell him to turn around and walk away from this whole mess, but I knew that it was too late for that now. He'd been right all along. Cassandra wouldn't rest until he was dead. 

"Methos…" 

The sadness in the bright hazel eyes made me swallow hard, and even though I wanted to tell him to come back to me, I stayed quiet. Then I couldn't have said anything anymore, when his lips touched mine. I raised my hand to the back of his head, answering the kiss fiercely, trying to tell him everything with the caress of my lips and tongue. The kiss was full of desperation, and I refused to think that maybe it was also a farewell.

Then his touch was gone.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty elevator shaft. Knowing that nothing would ever make things all right again.

* * *

I couldn't stay at the loft. The sound of the clock ticking was driving me crazy as well as was my thoughts. Loss of a friend. Loss of a loved one. By losing either one of them I would lose myself. 

A part of me wanted to believe that Methos would never kill Richie, but I knew that to be a lie. He would not let anyone take his head, no matter how dear they were to me. The man I loved was gentle and caring, but he could also be ruthless. And that would be the man who was walking towards a battle right now.

It was making my head hurt. How could this happen?

Without even a conscious decision, I got up and grabbed my coat and sword. I was at the door when I realized I was barefooted. After putting on the socks and shoes, I left my home, wondering how could I ever return there. To be there alone with happy memories of the short weeks I'd had together with Methos. 

Not allowing those thoughts to linger, I hopped into the car and started the engines up. Then I drove mechanically towards the only place I could think of staying at that moment. The place the survivor of the fight would come to find me.

There was a sign on the door that said that the bar was closed, but as I tried the handle, the door opened without any problems. Somehow I knew that my Watcher would be inside, waiting for me. 

Joe looked like he hadn't slept for days. He didn't say anything as I approached him, he just gestured me to sit on one of the barstools. 

After reaching out for something under the counter, he placed two glasses and a bottle on it.

We drank in silence for a while, both lost in thoughts. The situation resembled a wake, and I couldn't help thinking about whose wake it was. Damn it, I'd lost too many friends already. To lose one now like this made no sense whatsoever. 

"When were they supposed to meet."

The soft question made me flinch. After glancing at my watch, I sighed, "Almost half an hour ago." There was tightness in my throat. I hadn't realized how long I'd sat there. It was probably already over.

Joe closed his eyes. "Did he even have a chance?" The hoarse voice was full of pain. 

I had to swallow a few times. It must have cost him enormously to make that question. To make that choice between two friends. In a way his choice didn't surprise me, though. There had always been a connection between them. I'd asked about it from Richie once, and he'd just shrugged, saying that saving each other's lives did that to people. What had started as suspicion and mutual need to defeat Horton, had grown into deep friendship in four years. 

"No." I shook my head, wincing at the look on the mortal's eyes. "I don't think even I would beat Methos in a real battle. He doesn't fight fairly."

My attempt for some levity failed miserably.

Joe poured himself another drink, his hands shaking. After taking a sip, he whispered, "I hate myself for taking sides. For hoping that one of them had won. They're both my friends. I shouldn't have…"

"No. And neither should I. But we did. We were forced to this situation." I touched his arm. "Don't hate yourself. Hate the one who forced us to choose."

He nodded slightly, still looking miserable.

I knew what he was going through. God knows I did. No one should ever be forced to make such a choice. And that moment I hated Cassandra more than I had ever hated anyone in all my life. For all the youngsters she had sent to their deaths. For Richie. For Joe's pain. And for Methos and me. I would have cried if I hadn't felt so empty inside. 

Killing women went against everything I was, but when the day was over, I would go after Cassandra. I'd make sure she paid for what she'd done.

Minutes ticked by. I was beginning to think that we'd spend hours and hours waiting. And in the end no one would come to the little bar. The whole thought made my skin crawl. Life would go on, and we'd never know exactly what had happened in that warehouse. The Watchers would probably report on yet another dead Immortal, and that would be it.

Damn it! I should have let Methos go when he asked me to. Or I should have sent him away when it became apparent that this was no ordinary hunt. But I'd insisted he stayed, falling in love with him. And I never even told him that. Not in so many words, the way he deserved to hear them. 

The same was true with Richie. I'd taught young ones before, but he was special to me. I should have told that to him. God, I should have done something, _anything_ to prevent this from happening! 

It was too late now. Too late for everything, even self-discriminations. The only thing I could feel was that uncomfortable sensation running down my spine again, as I felt a Presence. 

Hope, fear, despair. I spun around to face whoever it was who was entering the bar. Who ever was still alive.

Joe turned to watch the door as he saw me react to the approaching Immortal. His expression was unnaturally calm now, like a mask used to hide his true emotions. 

The seconds before the door began to open felt like eternity, and I suddenly wanted to stay in that moment forever. My palms were sweating, and all I wanted was to run away, to slip out through the back door. To never know who had won and who had lost his head. But I just sat there, squeezing my hands together. I had to blink a few times, the tears almost preventing me from seeing.

As the familiar figure stepped into the bar, I heard a deep sigh coming from Joe. That sound was followed by heavy footsteps, as he walked to his office.

I stared at Methos for a few seconds. Then I hurried to him, and pulled him into an embrace. The joy of seeing him was so impossible to separate from pain at the loss of Richie, I couldn't say anything. I just squeezed him tight, and felt him squeeze me back. 

"Duncan..." 

"Shh… Don't say anything." I didn't want to hear it. I just wanted to hold him. No judgements. Not for his actions, past or present.

Methos pushed me away from him, and as I let him go, a sword fell to the floor from under his coat. It wasn't his ivanhoe. I stared at that familiar sword that I'd had for centuries after its first owner and my friend, Graham Ashe, had died right in front of my eyes. After giving it to Richie, I'd seen him clean it dozens of times at the dojo after a spar. I remembered when he'd given it to me when he'd decided to follow the other Methos, as well as the fear I'd felt when I hurried to return it to him before Culbraith could take his head. 

I grabbed Methos again. It didn't matter that he'd been the final instrument of my former student's death. It didn't matter. It wasn't his fault. If someone was to blame, it was Cassandra. Full of grief for Richie, and hatred towards Cassandra, I held onto my lover as the hot tears started to fall.

"Duncan…"

Not wanting to hear his explanations or apologies, I moved my hand from his back to his lips to silence him. As I looked into his face, I didn't see sadness, but shock. I also saw a small cut on his left cheekbone that was slowly healing with the help of his Quickening.

_His_ Quickening. 

"Methos?" I grabbed his shoulders, shaking him a little. "What the hell happened out there?" He looked a little pained at the rattling, and I yanked his coat open to see that his shirt was all bloody and torn. My mind kept screaming that if he'd taken a head, the life energy of his opponent would have healed him completely long before he got to Joe's.

He closed his eyes. "I couldn't do it."

"He's alive?"

"Yes." Methos sighed. "I hesitated, and he managed to stab me in the gut. After he yanked his blade off me, I returned the favor, and then grabbed his sword and ran."

I was suddenly laughing. Laughing and crying at the same time, feeling giddy with relief. "I'm glad you're so good at running, even with a stab wound. And I'm _so_ glad you're both alive!" 

There was a knowing look in his eyes when I finally let my grip on him loosen a little. "I kind of thought you'd like the way I handled this one out."

"Yes." Just a soft whisper before I kissed him. When my lips left his, I lay my head on his shoulder. "I thought you'd be gone, and I would have missed the chance to tell you how much I..." The words refused to come out. 

Methos' hand came up to brush my hair. "I know, Duncan. I know. " The soft whisper were followed by an equally soft kiss on my temple.

Swallowing, I wondered if there even were words to describe how I felt for him. Somehow, though, I was sure he really did know what I was trying to tell him. 

Even though I wanted to stay in his arms forever, I knew I didn't have the luxury to indulge myself. Everything was all right for the moment, but the threat was still there. Richie would come after Methos again, and we had to have a plan of how to handle him. 

I gave Methos one final squeeze, and then let him go. After clearing my throat, I said, "We have to think what to do next." 

"Like you said, it's not Richie, who challenged me. It's Cassandra." He grimaced. "Now we just have to think of a way to avoid the kid or prepare to shoot him and keep him dead for a while. If he's anything like the guy whose head you took, he won't rest until he takes my head."

"We'll find a way to deal with it." Even if we'd have to chain him to the wall, I'd make sure all my loved ones survived this!

That thought made me smile, and I just stood there, grinning at Methos. He blinked a few times, and then rolled his eyes. 

Before he could make any comment of my mental health, shivers running down my spine made me stiffen. There was definitely no amusement on my face as my gaze met with the hazel one. By then, an unknown Presence had turned from a source of surprise into a messenger of fear. But this time there was also a hint of hope. The approaching Immortal was probably either Richie or Cassandra. 

The move to grab my sword was automatic now. I faced the door with Methos by my side, both ready to fight whoever it was. Hoping it would be Cassandra, so that we could finally end this nightmare. One way or the other.

A moment later the door opened, letting the approaching Immortal in. "Mac…" It was a barely audible gasp. 

I lowered my sword. "Richie?"

My former student stumbled inside the bar, looking like he'd been to hell and back. His jacket was torn and it had dried blood on it.

The blue eyes that met mine were brimming. There was no trace of that inhuman emptiness there. "I'm sorry…" His voice broke, and he just spread his arms helplessly.

My katana landed on top of the other sword, as I stepped to hug Richie. "Don't be sorry." It was so good to really _feel_ that he was alive. I patted his back, and then let go. "You okay now?"

"Yeah. My chest still hurts like hell, but I'm okay. The whole thing's a bit blurry, but I guess I'm back to myself."

Thank God.

"You." He focused his gaze on Methos, but this time that small word wasn't an accusation. "Thanks for not slicing me into tiny pieces."

"I don't do that anymore."

I tensed, but Methos' words only made my young friend nod. "Your past is not my business. I have enough to deal with my own life, you know." He glanced at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

It was a relief to see that familiar look. I'd come to connect Cassandra's influence to the mad burn of hatred so apparent in the hunters' gaze, and Richie's eyes held none of that now. The thought reminded me that even though we had one less thing to worry about, the threat on Methos' life was still real.

"Richie? Can you tell us where to find Cassandra?" This could well be our best chance to end the whole thing.

Unfortunately he shook his head, looking a bit confused as he did so. "Sorry, Mac. Like I said, it's all a big blur." He concentrated on something and then shook his head again. "No. I... I remember something from New York, but I can't be sure..." Frowning, he looked into distance for a moment. "Damn it. It's like it's right there, but I can't really grab it!"

He sounded genuinely frustrated, and I hurried to calm him. "It's okay, Rich. Give it time and it'll come to you. You'll probably have to..."

" _My God_!"

We all turned to see where that shocked exclamation had come from.

Joe was standing at the doorway to his office. His face was ashen as he stared at the redhead. "Richie?"

"Yeah. The news of my demise were exaggerated, as you can see." Richie grinned at him, but then frowned as he saw the Watcher take a few faltering steps and grab the counter for balance. "Joe? Are you all right?"

"Am _I_ all right? What the hell kind of a question is that? I thought you were _dead_!" Joe sounded outraged. "I heard your voice and thought I'd gone crazy."

There was a stunned expression on Richie's face as he turned to glance at Methos. "You didn't tell them?"

"I didn't exactly have the time for it." The old man shook his head. "Besides, I thought you should tell them about it yourself."

Richie rolled his eyes and then walked towards the counter. "Great." He gave Joe a smile. "See, no harm done. I'm okay."

"I'm…" My Watcher swallowed, and then grabbed Richie's arm, as if to be certain that he was really there. It was the first time I'd ever really seen Joe completely speechless. 

The young man's eyes misted slightly, and he gave Joe an awkward hug. The Watcher closed his eyes and held him tight. Both of them were shaking now, and I could see tears running down the bearded face. From the way Richie was sniffling, I guessed he was crying too. 

I looked at Methos, who was smiling broadly at the sight in front of us. Remembering something he'd once said, I whispered, "Let friendship thrive."

The look he gave me was skeptical. Then his smile widened as he chuckled. "Oh, yes. You got that right."

Joe was the first one to let go. I could see Richie giving him one last squeeze, and then the two of them reached for their pockets, obviously looking for some tissues. They looked at each other, then at us, and then we all started to laugh. 

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Joe kept his gaze on Richie. "Are you sure you're all right?" He was probably talking about the control Cassandra'd had over him.

"Yeah." The young man nodded. "At least I don't think there's nothing wrong with me." Rubbing his stomach, he added wryly, "Well, except for a slight ache in my belly."

Joe saw the blood in Richie's clothes, and raised an eyebrow at Methos. The old man just shrugged.

Silence filled the small bar. I guess none of us really knew what to say. It was all right to enjoy the silence, though. At least we all knew that we were safe at the moment.

Methos nodded towards the counter. "Do you mind if I?" He made a vague gesture with his hand.

"No, go ahead." Joe nodded. He didn't even bother to follow the old man with his gaze as he went to grab himself a beer. It seemed that he was too busy watching Richie.

I turned my attention to the redhead, too. He was quite obviously happy to just sit there with a relaxed smile on his face. Yes, he was the kid I knew, and not the puppet who'd been sent to kill Methos. That made me realize that I was holding something that really belonged to him.

Richie looked at me with disbelief written all over his face, and then shook his head when I handed the sword to him. "I'm not all that sure…"

"I am. Take it, it's still yours." I pressed the handle in his hand. It belonged there. "You'd be dead in the matter of hours if you went on wandering around without a sword. Keep it. It's a part of you."

"A part of me that almost killed someone you care about."

I shook my head. "No, that was Cassandra. Look, Rich, I _know_ how powerful she is when she wants something. She won't be able to control you again. You're stronger than that. Now take the sword."

He looked at me, and then nodded, sliding the sword under his jacked. Then he smiled wryly. "At least I have this and my wallet. It's all I need to get myself a place to sleep tonight." He threw a glance at the door, looking anxious to leave.

Even though I wanted to talk with him, I knew he needed some time to gather his thoughts. Still, I couldn't just have him walk out like that. "Maybe you should stay at the loft..." 

"Nah. I'll get myself a room in a hotel." Richie threw a sidelong glance at Methos. "I need some time to think, and frankly, you're place is too crowded for me to do that. No offense."

None taken. But I wasn't sure if it was a good idea for him to go wandering all by himself. The stubborn look on his face made me swallow any objections, though. I knew that expression well. It meant that he really wanted some space, and wouldn't allow me to mother him. "Okay. Just keep in touch."

Joe hurried to add, "Remember you can come here anytime, Richie. If you need to talk, or just sit and think in peace..." He left it hanging there.

"Yeah. I'll remember that." The young man nodded, looking relieved. He turned back to me. "I guess I'll see you all later then."

"Sure." 

Methos didn't say anything. He just saluted Richie with his bottle. The redhead nodded back at him, and then walked out of the bar.

As soon as the door closed, Joe straightened himself and then headed towards his little office. Before stepping in, he stated, "I'd better call his Watcher and make damn sure he keeps an eye on the kid this time." He sounded annoyed and muttered something dark as he disappeared from sight.

If the Watcher was one of those arrogant bastards who cherished tradition above peoples' lives, I had to agree with Joe's unflattering remarks. 

There was only Methos and me in the bar now. I watched him empty his bottle, enjoying just being there with him. He noticed me watching and cocked his head. 

"So, darling. What do we do now?"

I raised an eyebrow at his endearment, but he just smiled innocently. Darling? Well, two could play that game. "I don't know, love. Maybe we should go home."

It was pretty funny to see Methos' eyes widen in shock. I guess he hadn't expected me to say anything like that. Or maybe use a word like that, but with a mocking tone. 

He recovered from it pretty quickly. Flashing me a smile, he nodded. "Sure. This _has_ been quite a day."

Yes, it had been. The worst day and the best day for a while. For a long time.

I walked around the counter, and after knocking, entered the office. My Watcher had just finished his phone call, and was shaking his head, clearly annoyed. 

Joe smiled as I asked him if he'd be okay now. Apparently he was. He looked tired, though. I knew the feeling. Living in fear was exhausting. He agreed that it was best if I got Methos back to the loft and stayed there as he made some phone calls. The determined glint in his eyes told me that this time he wouldn't take no for an answer when he contacted the other Watchers. 

After thanking him, I walked back to the bar, leaving Joe sit there with his mouth open. Methos raised an eyebrow at my grin, but apparently decided he didn't really want to know the reason for my amusement.

We were quiet during the drive back home. It was enough for me to enjoy Methos' company. Damn it, the thought of never being able to be with him, to listen to his griping, or dodge his dirty laundry on the floor had almost floored me. Now that he was there, I never wanted to let him out of my sight again. It was strange how in such a short period of time the old man had become to mean everything to me.

Home, sweet home. Yes, it would feel like a home again, now that I wasn't returning there alone. Soon I'd be able to hold the man I loved in my arms, really feeling him next to me. That thought firmly in mind, I parked the car and then walked to the main entrance, holding the door open for Methos. 

I didn't follow him straight to the elevator, though. Instead, I stood there, in the middle of the gym, staring at the weapons hanging on the walls. The neatly piled bos in one corner, an elegantly curved naginata in its place near the window, waiting for one of my students, who always reminded me of Mei-Ling for some reason, even though she didn't look anything like my old teacher. The sharp --and dull-- sais right next to my small office. 

All tools of my profession, but also so much more. Symbols of a trait that wasn't just about fighting others, but about honor and discipline. A remain from an era when a man would truly die for his land, his beliefs, his honor. Or for the ones he loved.

"Duncan?" Methos' voice was hushed. "Are you coming?"

Shaking my head, I kept my voice as soft as he had. "Not yet. There's something I have to do first." I took slow steps towards the rack where all my sparring katanas hung. One by one I took them down from their resting place my left hand on the hilt, my right hand on the scabbard. I held each one of them for a moment, and then put them back up, this time with the hilt to the right.

In my heart, it felt right to bring the symbolism to it. Cassandra had attacked my house. So now my house was at war with her.

* * *

We didn't even discuss about going to work the next day. Working at the university had been one of the most important things that brought a sense of normality to our lives for months now, but it was now time to concentrate fully on Cassandra. 

The Dean didn't sound all that happy when I called her, and informed that due to a sudden family emergency, Adam Pierson and I would be unable to come to work for the rest of the week. She had no choice but to wish us luck on handling whatever was wrong, though. I grimaced when I ended the call, hoping that we could indeed find conclusion before the next week. If we didn't find Cassandra by then it was probable that Methos and I would have to quit our jobs. Having Richie come after him clearly proved that she'd go to any lengths to kill him. We couldn't risk all the young mortals at the university. 

After breakfast, we headed downstairs to spar. Nothing big, just a little exercise, and a demonstration of fighting skills. I needed to be assured of both our abilities to wield the sword. 

Still, I knew that in the end, defeating Cassandra had nothing to do with who was best with the blade.

Methos had said that he couldn't take her head. For a long time I'd agreed with him, doubting that I could either. But I knew now that when the final confrontation came, there would be no hesitation. One of us would have to take her head. 

In a way I even hoped it would be me, even though the thought of killing a woman I'd called a friend, and even made love to horrified me. I doubted that anything her Quickening would make me witness would hurt me as much as it would hurt my lover, though. That's why I was willing to go against what I believed. To make sure he wouldn't be hurt.

No matter how he protested my protecting him, he'd just have to give in on this. 

I didn't bring up the subject with him. My mind was made up, and there was nothing he could say to change my mind. We'd just get into a useless fight over it if we started talking about confronting her. 

After the spar, we went upstairs. I called Joe as Methos grabbed fresh clothes and carried them to the bathroom, telling the Watcher we'd be coming to the bar in an hour or so. Joe sounded relaxed, noting that Richie was already there. That was good. At least he'd be relatively safe in the bar. 

As I lowered the receiver, I felt arms wrap around my waist. Smiling, I leaned against Methos. "I thought you were going to grab a shower."

"I was. I changed my mind." His lips brushed against my ear. "You told Joe we'd be there in an hour?"

Squirming around so I now faced him, I nodded. "Yep. That gives us plenty of time to have lunch." The look in his eyes made me smile. "Or something else." 

"Something else. I'm not really all that hungry."

That sounded like a plan.

Methos buried his head on my shoulder, taking a deep breath. His hands were already tugging my T-shirt up my sweaty back, making me shiver. My clammy skin reacted on the slightly cool air by getting goosebumps all over me.

"I'm all sweaty, Methos." I could smell the heavy scent on my own skin, and I wasn't the one whose head was dangerously close to my armpit. 

Hazel eyes met mine. There was a strange dreamy look in that gaze. "Yes you are."

"I need to take a shower." Not more than a gasp. Those hands were moving down now to caress my arse. I suddenly felt more warm than I usually did after a simple exercise. "Methos! I really need a shower."

"No you don't!" A strong hand moved to the back of my head, those nimble fingers grabbing my hair, and then my head was pulled back. I could feel Methos' breath on my neck a second before he licked a trail from my collar bone to my ear.

The bites and nibbles that followed it, clearly showed me he didn't mind me being sweaty. Not at all. I gave up insisting on a shower, figuring that we could take one later together anyway. 

We arrived Joe's about half an hour late, but it seemed like the two younger men didn't even realize we hadn't been there in time. 

Richie and Joe seemed to be in the middle of a serious conversation, and Methos and I joined them, trying not to interrupt them. After listening for a moment, I couldn't hold back my curiosity, though, and asked Richie to start from the beginning. He threw a suffering glare at me, but did as I asked.

Even though it was the holiday season, and all the tourist centers were full of people, he had enjoyed his time in Greece. A part of that had come from the fact that no sane Immortal hunted in a crowd. While there were tourists around sun bathing and enjoying the local cuisine, Richie could have some peace. 

The sea and the sand had apparently lost its appeal after a few months, and my former student had decided to come back to States. France held too many bitter disappointments to him. He'd decided not to come straight to Seacouver, and had headed to New York instead. 

After only a day or so of sightseeing, he'd stumbled into a few young Immortals, who'd astonishingly invited him to go clubbing with them instead of going after his head. The youngsters had then taken him to a night club where they'd introduced him to Cassandra. 

Richie's blue eyes held confusion as he shook his head at that point of his story. "I... I have only fragments after that. I remember spending some time with her and the others, but..." He glanced at Methos. "We talked mostly about the Gathering, and how you needed to be killed. At least I think we did. The details are still blurry. I know I must have gotten here somehow, but I have no idea how. Seeing you run away with my sword is the first clear thing after going to that damn club."

It didn't sound like he was lying, but I had the feeling that there was something he was keeping away from us. "Richie? That's not all, is it?"

Throwing an irritated look at me, he groaned. "Can't you just leave it alone, Mac? For once in your live just let it be."

I couldn't. Not even if it had been just about his life, but it was about so much more here. I was sorry if I hurt his feelings, but I couldn't let him keep his little secrets. Not when it could endanger Methos' life. "You know I can't."

The kid looked defeated. "I loved her, okay?" Then he shook his head, confused. "Well, not really love. It's more like..."

"Like for some reason you think she's your whole world." 

Methos' words made Richie wince. "Yeah. It's stupid, really, but I couldn't help obeying her every word." There was doubt in his voice.

"It's not your fault, kid." Joe leaned back in his chair. "And you're not the only one. Mac, maybe you should tell him everything that's happened here."

I looked at Methos, and then cleared my throat, thinking back of the late summer. Skipping over most of the details, I told Richie about the hunters that had already tried to kill Methos. His reaction was a stunned silence. He hadn't known that it had been going on for so long. 

In a way that seemed to make him feel a little better. He was just a part of Cassandra's plan, not a weakling who could easily be used to threaten his friends' lives. 

After I'd finished talking, Methos asked Richie a few questions about Greece. The young man was a little baffled about the non sequitur, but then seemed to realize that Methos wanted to change the subject. Those two chatted about the Mediterranean for some time.

Joe made a few phone calls, but didn't really accomplish anything. There was something going on with the Watchers, but apparently no one was willing to talk with him. Or more likely, no one wanted me to hear about it, so they kept him in the dark.

We sat there in the bar for a few more hours, just talking and enjoying each other's company. In the end, we couldn't allow ourselves to be lulled by the relaxing mood, though. Long before it got dark, Methos and I headed back home and Richie left for his lodgings. 

Like the previous night, we put our swords on the floor near the bed for the night. I didn't say anything as Methos slipped his gun under the pillow, I just pulled him into a loose embrace, and then settled down for the night.

* * *

The next day Methos and I skipped sparring and were standing behind the door to Joe's soon after noon. 

I got a little worried when my Watcher didn't come to open the door even after a few minutes of knocking. He'd known we'd be coming, so he shouldn't have been all that far. But it still took a long time before anyone came to answer the door. 

Finally I could hear a muffled, "I'm coming!" A moment later someone fumbled the lock, and then the door banged open, revealing an irritated mortal pointing at us with a gun. Joe lowered it immediately as he saw us. "Oh, it's you two."

"Who'd you expect?" I frowned. The lack of another Presence told me already that Richie wasn't anywhere near. 

The look in Joe's eyes was cold. "Come in, guys. We need to talk." Without another word he turned his back on us and walked back into the bar. 

Exchanging a look with Methos, I followed close up to him, wondering what had happened. Nothing too serious, I hoped. If someone had died, Joe wouldn't have been so calm. "What's going on?"

Joe lowered himself on a chair, and gestured us to join him. He waited until we were all seated until replying. "I just had a call from Theresa Johnson." Hearing Methos' sudden inhale, he nodded. "Yep."

Nice. Instead of English, those two were talking Watcher again. "Who is she?" Right after my question I felt shivers run down my spine. Damn it! There was only one possible explanation that came to mind. "She's Cassandra's Watcher, isn't she?"

"Yeah." Joe turned from the old man to me. "And she is right here in Seacouver." 

Here in town? "Does that mean Cassandra is here, too?" I could barely hope it to be true. When I saw him nod, I felt my insides clench. "Where is she?"

"Her Watcher didn't say that." Before I could protest, he raised up a hand. "Relax, Mac. She just said that she hasn't seen her since yesterday evening and that she's not in her room at the hotel now. She'll call us as soon as she finds out just exactly where she is."

I didn't know what to say. Methos on the other hand didn't seem to have the same problem. "Why now, Joe? I thought she'd been missing."

"Missing? No. She's been visiting her sister for some time." My Watcher's voice was almost freezing. "Somehow people at the HQ neglected to mention it to me. Apparently no one had informed her about the situation, either. She'd found out that Cassandra's been gathering young followers, but didn't know why."

It was incredible how the Watchers still cling to their rules, even when their people were being killed by crazed Immortals. "How did she know to call you?"

There was a short silence before Joe let out a bitter chuckle. "She didn't _know_ to call me. It was only professional courtesy. You know, I _am_ the resident Watcher here." He glanced at Methos. 

"Will she help us?" 

Another pause. Then the Watcher nodded. "Yes. She's young and idealistic, but intelligent enough to see when observing is not enough. Besides, one of her best friends was killed by one of Cassandra's hunters." Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, he scanned through the few written lines. "Okay, we know she's staying in Ramada Hotel, but she's not in her room now. We also know she's here by herself."

So it would be just her we'd be up against. Good. That was all that I'd ever wanted. I exchanged a look with Methos, and saw a grim expression on his face. "What do you think?"

"I say we wait until we get more information, and then pay her a visit." His voice was flat. "Let's not go running around in circles. We can't be all _that_ sure she's alone."

For once I agreed with him. 

"What are you going to do?" Joe sounded hesitant. 

I let out a sigh. "I'll try to talk to her. If she has any sanity left, she will listen and then walk away." I doubted it, though. The Cassandra I'd known would never had sent my friend against me. She wouldn't have used innocent youngsters for her own revenge.

My Watcher seemed to think along the same lines. "And what if she's completely mad and refuses to listen?"

"Then I will be forced to kill her." Even the words chilled me, but there was no other option. No one should be forced to go through what we'd been through those last few months.

Methos shook his head, moving a little closer to me. "No, Duncan. This is all because of me. My actions all those years ago did this to her, I should be the one who took care of her." He touched my hand. "You still can't fight my battles."

"It's not just your battle anymore." I laced my fingers with his. "It became my fight the minute she tried to destroy what we have between us. Sending Richie after you was the last straw. And besides, as long as we're together, your fights are my fights."

"Then you're a fool."

Quirking up an eyebrow, I smiled, "No more a fool then a certain friend of mine who challenged a man who had come for my head." 

Joe looked startled as he glanced at Methos. "You actually challenged Keane?"

Funny, I'd always thought he already knew that.

"He was different." The hazel eyes were calm, just as his voice. "He had no reason to kill you."

I nodded. "And Cassandra has no real reason to have you dead. She's living in the past. None of that exists anymore. The Horsemen are all gone." 

It was amazing how my words could make him look so happy. I decided it was time to stop talking, and pulled him into a kiss that he answered immediately. 

When we broke the kiss, I turned to look at Joe, feeling a little sheepish. After all, it wasn't exactly the way I had intended to break the news on him.

The smile on the bearded face told me that no announcement was necessary. "Well, it's about time you two stopped dancing around each other!"

"Oh, but I enjoyed the dance as well." Leer was the only word to describe the expression on Methos' face.

"I bet you did." Joe grinned. Looking pleased with himself, he added, "Good choice, Mac. He's just the kind of man you need. Older, wiser. Someone to take care of you."

"Oh, shut up!" I could see how these two would make my life a living hell. When my friends shared an amused look, I added, "I must say, he is a good catch, though. And all the attention is of course flattering." I raised my hands to my cheeks, exclaiming, "You know, five _thousand_ years old guy interested in little old me." 

Methos glared at me.

Ignoring him, I winked at Joe, who looked like he'd burst into laughter any second. Then I kissed my lover again. After all, a little teasing was fun, but I definitely didn't want to make him mad at me.

He resisted for a moment, and then opened his mouth, taking control of the kiss. When we parted, I was breathless. Taught me not to try to best him in that kind of game. At least not before I'd had some more practice. 

We sat there for a moment, nursing soft drinks I'd got for us and speculating about Cassandra's whereabouts. The fact that she'd finally arrived in Seacouver had to mean that this would all end soon. She had probably thought that sending Richie after Methos would seal the old man's fate. Now that her plan had failed, she would probably do something rash. At least I hoped she would.

All the speculations didn't really lead anywhere. But we had nothing else to do. It was early, so there were no customers in the bar yet. After an hour or so, Mike came in, followed by a few thirsty-looking mortals. The bartender seemed to realize that he'd have to deal with all customers, and we were left alone.

The young man was serving on a table near the stage as the phone rang. Joe went to answer the phone, while I decided it was about time to visit the men's room again. It was really a miracle how Methos could handle drinking all that beer he usually consumed without having to almost live in the restroom.

When I stepped back to the bar, my friends were already standing at the door, both wearing their coats. Methos held out mine. "We've found Cassandra. She's back at the warehouse district." He exchanged a worried look with Joe, and then continued, "And she's not alone. Theresa reported she'd seen a young redheaded man there with her."

"Richie?" Oh, God, what was he up to now? 

Methos nodded, and then opened the door. "Most likely."

No other words were needed. We all hurried out and in a few minutes we were speeding towards the docks.

I prayed my young friend wouldn't do anything stupid. Cassandra had had a hold over him, and I didn't have a clue if she could re-establish that bond or not. Instead of a fair fight, she could just kill him. Or do something even worse. 

"Can't you drive any faster?" Joe's voice was annoyed. He kept fidgeting on his seat, muttering dark things about Richie's Watcher.

I was already exceeding the speed limits. Throwing an annoyed look at him, I kept driving. It wasn't the time to start a fight. We were all edgy; fearing for Richie, wondering what was going on in the warehouse where he'd already fought with Methos.

Whatever had happened there, we didn't reach the small warehouse in time to see it. As I stepped out of the car, I could hear a high-pitched wail coming from the building, and then blue bursts of energy were breaking windows in front of us. 

Methos shielded Joe from all the flying debris with his body, grunting as a shard of glass cut his arm. I rushed to stand next to him, so we could make absolutely sure that my Watcher was safe. It was a good precaution, for the man himself didn't seem to be all that worried of his own safety. He kept trying to peek at the warehouse, looking anxious.

No wonder, I needed to know what had happened, too.

It was different now, though. I was worried about Richie, but this time there was no trace of that empty feeling inside of me. Dread, yes, but not that terrible feeling that everything had just lost its meaning. If Cassandra had taken his head, I would challenge her and this would be over. Whatever happened, it would all end here. No more deaths, no more fear. 

There was the familiar silence after the Quickening. The eerie calmness, where the sound of your own breathing sounds unnaturally loud in your ears. 

Then the silence was broken by Joe's relieved exclamation. "Richie!"

I turned around, suddenly too exhausted to even smile as I saw my young friend standing in the warehouse doorway. 

Richie staggered towards us, still holding his sword in his hand. There was pain in his eyes, but his expression was grim. 

"Cassandra?" Methos' voice was surprisingly neutral.

"Someone had to." The young man unknowingly repeated Methos' words from a few years past.

I stared at the warehouse door, wondering if I should go in or not. In a way I felt like I should. After all, Cassandra had been my friend once, and I owed it to that friend to pay my respects. She'd been my first encounter with unexplained phenomena, and for a few short days I'd shared my bed with her. I should say my farewells to her.

On the other hand, I didn't want to go in and see her headless body. That wouldn't be the woman I'd cared about, that would just be someone who had tried to shatter my world with her pointless revenge. I'd rather keep the memories of her as I'd last seen her, alive and sane.

A hand touched my shoulder, and Joe's subdued voice stated, "It's all over now. We should get back to the bar, and I'll call the cleaners."

Turning to face him, I almost declined his offer of having another wake. He squeezed my shoulder harder before I could say anything, though, and threw a glance at Richie. There was a lost look on the young man's face. Killing Cassandra must have hurt him like hell, but it seemed he didn't even have the energy to cry. He just stood there numbly.

Yes, it was a good idea. He shouldn't be alone right now. I didn't know what exactly had happened between him and Cassandra, but it was clear his decision to go after her hadn't been an easy one. "Sure. I'll drive."

Joe smiled gratefully. Then he turned to Methos. "Are you all right?"

When he didn't get an answer, I walked to my friend, not really surprised to see the pained expression on the pale face. Methos didn't have to say anything; it was obvious what he was thinking. There was no one left to remind him of his past. And no matter how horrendous it had been, it was a part of him. Cassandra had been a part of him.

Now all that was gone. 

"Hey." I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. Feeling him take a deep breath, I squeezed him a little, and then guided him after Joe, towards the car. "Let's go."

He raised his gaze to mine. "Home?" There was a hint of some other question in his eyes.

Since I wasn't exactly a mind reader, I could only answer to the question he'd voiced. "Soon. First we'll stop by at Joe's. For Richie's sake."

That made him glance at the young redhead, who was already sitting in the backseat of my car. "Yeah, we should do that." He smiled a little wanly. "He did save the day."

I nodded. Yes, Richie had definitely saved the day, and so much more. I had no idea if he'd gotten any images from the past --his own or hers-- in the Quickening, but he seemed to cope relatively well. If Methos or I had killed Cassandra, there would have definitely been some kind of a revenge from beyond death. 

Methos climbed on the passenger seat next to me. The younger men settled in the backseat. I kept glancing at Richie from the rearview mirror.

His face was still ashen, but otherwise there was no sign of how he felt. Whatever horrors he'd seen when the Quickening had rushed through him had drained him completely. Looking uncomfortable, he kept fidgeting on the seat until Joe pulled him a little closer, offering him a shoulder to lean on. 

Richie looked startled, but then accepted the offer with a sigh.

The drive back to the bar took a little longer than our frantic drive to the docks. Mostly, because this time I actually paid attention to driving regulations. When I stopped at the lights a few blocks from Joe's, I glanced at Methos and then, acting on pure instinct, grabbed his hand for a moment. Neither of us said anything. 

When the lights turned green, I let go of his hand and continued driving.

After parking the car, I hopped out, and then waited until everyone was out before heading towards the bar. Methos walked right beside me, our shoulders almost touching. Behind us, Richie was walking at the same pace as Joe was. We were all acting like we'd just won a war, and didn't know whether to rejoice or feel empty. The final battle had been unexpected, and had happened far too fast for me to even realize that there was no need to fear anymore. It would take some time until it sank in. 

Mike looked up as we walked into the bar. He took one glance at Joe and hurried to pour us all drinks. My Watcher had never said anything about him being a part of the secret organization, but I'd seen the tattoo on the bartender's wrist. Still, he had never looked disapproving when Joe was talking to us.

I was really glad of it now. Disapproval was the last thing any of us needed.

We got our drinks. Joe nodded thanks to Mike, and then returned his whole attention back to Richie. The redhead was sitting there, staring at the liquid in his glass. The emptiness in his gaze hadn't gone away.

Right beside him, Methos was acting almost similarly, although his eyes were full of sadness. No matter how he'd protested earlier, nothing could convince me that he wasn't having some regrets. Of the past long gone. 

The other patrons of the bar went unnoticed. Apparently people could see that we weren't exactly having a party, so no one approached us. 

We sat there in silence for a long time. Every once in a while I could feel Richie's gaze on me, as if confirming the fact that I was still there, alive and well. Then he'd turn his attention to Methos, and back to Joe. After that, his eyes would be on me again.

By the time we'd all finished our drinks, the bar was almost full of people. It seemed almost obscene the way they laughed and chatted all around us. But it also confirmed the fact that life would go on. Here, at Joe's, nothing had changed.

Sitting there had changed something, though. Methos looked still pensive, but the awful emptiness had disappeared from Richie's gaze. The blue eyes were now brimming with tears. They didn't escape down his cheeks, though. It would happen soon enough.

When the waitress walked past our table again, my student cleared his throat. "I'll have a double whiskey, please."

She glanced at Joe, who nodded. Apparently she'd been concerned if Richie was in any condition to have another drink.

Richie waited until a glass was presented before him, and then stated, pronouncing every word clearly, "I am going to get so drunk I won't even remember my own name." With that, he took a gulp of the whiskey. His hands shook a little as he put the glass back on the table.

I swallowed. Yes, it might even help him. After a few hours he'd either pass out, or he'd start to cry. Both options sounded probably good to him.

Joe glanced from Richie to Methos. Then he focused his gaze on me. "Go home guys. I'll take care of Richie and see he gets to the hotel safely when he's ready to go." 

"Thanks, Joe." I was too tired to object. Besides, the way he'd said the first part of the sentence told me that he really would take care of the kid. He was a good listener, he'd be there for Richie.

Raising to my feet I waited for Methos to follow my example. Then we walked out of the bar to the darkening evening. 

The drive home was like a dream. Everything seemed a little fuzzy. 

There had been a threat hanging over us for so long, I couldn't even believe it was over yet. Especially since the conclusion had been so anticlimactic. I had expected some kind of a confrontation, and there had been none. Not between the two of us, anyway. I didn't know if that was something that I regretted or not. Intellectually I knew that the only viable outcome of this whole mess was the one that had occurred in the warehouse. Cassandra wouldn't have let go. But that didn't mean I wasn't second guessing.

Once again we drove in silence. There was nothing to talk about. I kept thinking about the whole autumn, and couldn't help a small smile appearing on my face. There had been fear and pain, but also a birth of something beautiful. 

It was something I was determined to cherish all my life. I would never regret falling in love with Methos. Never. 

God! It was good that we were so close to home now. Otherwise I would have probably crashed the car. It hit me with full force that we didn't have to be afraid anymore. He was safe. _We_ were safe, just as were all those young Immortals Cassandra had lured to join her. 

After parking, I sat there for a second. My friend had hopped out the moment I'd killed the engine, and he was pacing in the parking lot, looking like he was enjoying the crispy evening air. Like a pagan, worshipping the nightly sky, hopping around the lot, raising his hands above his head. 

The paralysis that had made me sit there immobile let go, and I exited the car. After locking the doors, I leaned against it, and raised my gaze to the sky. Maybe there would finally be peace in my life.

The sound of footsteps stopped, and the deep voice asked, "Are we going to spend the whole night here, or are we going inside?" 

I looked at Methos. He was standing there, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets. Almost drowning inside his oversized coat. It was a familiar sight. The oldest man in the world looking like a harmless young boy. I tried to smile at him, but my facial muscles didn't obey me. 

"Duncan" My friend sounded worried. "What is it?" 

Instead of answering, I walked right next to him, and grabbed his hand. He didn't resist at all as I started to pull him towards the door. It wasn't easy to find the keys and then use them on the lock with one hand, but somehow I managed, and when we were finally inside, the keys fell on the floor as I pushed Methos against the wall. Two loud sounds of steel hitting the floor rang in the dojo, but neither of us paid any attention to that as our mouths met in a hungry kiss, hands busy at ripping our clothes off.

The floor was hard and even a bit cold. It didn't matter. Nothing else mattered but getting as close to Methos as it was possible. He seemed to think the same way, for I was completely naked a moment before he was. Well, he'd had years of practice on me.

It was frantic, almost like madness. We collapsed into a writhing heap on the floor, kissing so hard I could taste blood as my teeth cut Methos' lip, feeling his fingers knead my flesh as he pulled me close. Moving my lips from his only for a second to breathe, I copied his position, grabbing his arse. Then there were only the rhythmic thrusts of our bodies as we moved together towards a climax.

When I could once again breathe evenly, I noticed I was holding him so tight my arms hurt. He didn't seem to have any objections, though. Perhaps because he was holding me just as tight.

Finally he squirmed a little. "Okay, I need to breathe, Mac." After a few deep breaths he curled back against me. "That's definitely better."

Yes, it was. I planted a kiss on his temple. It was also really cold there and my back protested on the combination of a strange position and a hard floor, but there was no way I'd move from his arms. 

Eventually we had to let go of each other, though. It had been a long day, but the next one would feel much longer if we fell asleep there. Sleeping in bed wouldn't make our joints hurt, like sleeping on the floor would.

Methos grumbled as he crawled to his pants, muttering something as he didn't find his underwear. He did lift up my briefs, and then chuckled as he saw that the little garment had been ripped in two. 

Deciding to enjoy the view for a bit longer before starting to pull on my own clothes --or the ones that were still intact-- I pushed myself to a sitting position. 

I looked up, a smile tugging up a corner of my mouth as I saw Methos' boxers hanging almost right above my head, on the handle of one of my training katanas. Leaning my back against the wall, I suddenly realized that I should turn the swords back the way they'd been, the handle to the left. Cassandra was gone, my house was in peace. 

For some reason the thought brought me fear instead of relief. But there was no reason for fear. There was no reason to stand guard. 

There was no reason for us to look after each other. For Methos to stay glued to me all the time.

Swallowing hard, I moved a little as if to jump up to capture Methos into an embrace, and then lowered my hands back to my lap. I got to my feet, and then followed my friend's example and pulled my clothes on. When we were dressed, we walked to the elevator side by side. 

I kept my gaze in Methos during the ride up, enjoying the warmth in his eyes. He looked completely happy as he leaned against the green walls.

That was the way I should have looked, too, but it was hard to look satisfied as I had a choking feeling in my throat.

As soon as we got up, he strolled to the coach, flinging his boxers towards the bathroom, not even bothering to look apologetic as they landed right there on the floor. Then he sat down, lifting one foot on the coffee table. Looking right home.

But how long would he be doing that?

"It's all over now." My chest hurt. I hadn't spared one thought to what would happen next. Now that his life wasn't in danger anymore, Methos was free to go wherever he wanted. He didn't have to stay with me. Or even in town. What if he left now? We hadn't talked about the future, and I was sure he would want some space now.

The only problem was that I didn't want him to leave me. 

My God. I had no idea how to let him go. What a fool I was! To think of him as everything only meant that I'd _lose_ everything if he left. No! There was no way in hell I'd allow him to... I closed my eyes. I couldn't tell him not to go if he really wanted to. I had no right to do that, no matter how much I loved him. If he stayed, he'd stay because he wanted to. He'd have to make that decision himself. 

"So it is. I can't say that I'm sorry for how it ended. Richie can handle this. I'm not all so sure I'd have." He smiled. "At least now I don't have to spend every waking moment worrying for my life."

I also tried to smile a little. That was a good thing. I'd have to keep that in mind when he left. He would be all right, and some day he'd appear on my door again, ready to argue with me about some philosophical issue and leaving a mess behind in the kitchen. It would have to be enough. 

"I'm all for some peace and quiet." 

"Right." It was obvious that he didn't think I could stay away from trouble. He was quite probably right. 

The thought only made me feel worse. Why on earth would he want to stay with me? After all, his life would be a lot easier with someone else. Staying with me was virtually a death wish.

"And I don't have to hide anymore." Methos looked around the loft. "Not that I don't like it in here, but I really don't want to spend all my time locked inside. I missed my freedom."

Yes, he would miss that, wouldn't he? "So, what will you do now? Any plans?" I wanted to bite off my tongue, but it was too late now. The words were already out, and there was no way to take them back. 

He scratched his head. "A few. I could travel a bit, see the world." There was a small pause as he focused his gaze in me. "But then again, Duncan, Seacouver is rather nice this time of year."

For a moment I just stared at him. There was a soft look in the hazel eyes. Then I nodded. "Aye, it is. You think you could stick around for a while?" It was a miracle I could get the words out of my dry throat.

"That depends." He was serious now.

"On what?"

"On whether or not you want me to stay." Methos said quietly. "I don't want to leave, but if you want some time to think about all this, I'll give you time."

We both knew he wasn't talking about staying in the town, and continuing his life. It wasn't about getting him another small apartment, or sharing lunch-breaks with a colleague at the university. We were talking about a relationship. Some kind of a commitment to each other.

"Then you will stay here." Yes, it did sound like a command, but I couldn't help it. I didn't _want_ it to sound as anything else. 

A raise of an eyebrow. "I will?"

I nodded vigorously as I took a few steps and then sat next to him on the couch. "Yes, you will." Seeing his expression, I added, "Please, Methos. Stay. I really want you to stay here with me. It's your home, too." Somehow I'd make it sure that he'd never leave again.

"Then I'll stay." Smiling, he stretched, moving his body into that graceful sprawl. "So, what's for dinner?"

"Whatever you want" Smiling, I ran my fingers down his cheek. "Whatever you want."

* * *

  
**Epilogue:  
** New York  


The bartender shook her head, wondering if it was one of those FBI's secret meetings again. It certainly looked like that. Twelve or so men and women in the bar, all dressed in almost identical trench coats, and all having an identical wary look on their face. The only thing that wasn't usual, was the incredible amount of liquor they consumed. Maybe it wasn't an official meeting.

She was happy to have such a crowd there, though. Business had been bad for the past few days. It was like everyone was trying to adjust to the fact that they were now really on a new millennium. 

It had been one hell of a New Year, though.

"Here you are, sir." She smiled at the man in a light brown coat, and handed him the glass of Glenmorangie he'd asked for. 

The answering smile was almost blinding. "Thank you."

When the man raised the glass to his lips, she saw a flash of gold in his ring finger. Too bad, she thought. Seeing the man who had made the reservations frown at her, the bartender decided it was the time to leave the guys alone, like he'd specifically wished. It was good to be able to do some paperwork, anyway.

"All right. We all know why we're here." The man's voice was dark, husky, with a hint of a French accent. 

Many of the men murmured their agreements. One of the women spoke louder, though. "Jacques. Have you been able to find out which one of those bastards killed her?"

Jacques Durmond nodded gravely. "I have. But it is irrelevant." Holding his hand up as angry words were yelled at him, he raised his voice to be heard. "I say irrelevant, for they all had something to do with it. The traitor Ryan held the blade, but it was the monster that was behind it all. He corrupted the kid. He seduced Duncan MacLeod."

The man who'd been keeping his eyes focused on the glass raised his stunned gaze to the group leader. 

"We need to get rid of him for once and for all. If we don't strike now, he'll disappear, and we might never be able to kill the one who destroyed not only our beloved Cassandra, but our dream also. She promised us that the Gathering would be here, now, and yet the millennium changed and here we are. I know she wouldn't have lied to us. It's all his fault! He must not be let live." Durmond raised a sheet of paper, showing an artistically done portrait of a man. 

Most of the people stared at the picture with hatred. The man in the pale trench coat just stared. The haircut was different, but there was no way the nose could belong to anyone else. He squinted his eyes. Not only was his cousin in grave danger, but somehow a man from his past was involved in it also.

A woman got to her feet. "Eight of us are already on their way to Seacouver. They should be there in an hour or so. They will kill the bastards."

Durmond nodded. "Yes. They should not fail, but if they do, we'll go after the monster. One way or the other, he, and all those he corrupted, will die. We will let no one stand in our way!"

There were spontaneous applauds coming from the small crowd, as well as various encouraging slogans. When the commotion died, their leader once again held up a hand. "We have three new brothers here tonight. This is William Berman." He motioned at a young man sitting next to him. "M'Hand Slaria." The Arab bowed a little. "And finally, Rupus Wellingford."

The man in the beige trench coat flashed a smile.

Someone in the crowd snickered at the last name. Wellingford sighed and then emptied his glass. He'd forgotten how amusing people found his name. After all, it was one he hadn't used in decades.

A few more speeches were made, all praising their fallen prophet and berating the nameless man they all knew as a monster that had once tried to destroy the brightness and had finally managed to do that. Toasts were drunk in Cassandra's honor. 

Somewhere during that mixed celebration- wake, Rupus Wellingford excused himself and slipped into the men's room to make an urgent call with his cell phone. For a few nerve wrecking seconds the phone just rang. Then it went to a damn answering machine. The man hissed a few words and then sighed with relief as his cousin picked up the phone. Moments later he stepped out of the stall and washed his hands. To make sure no one got suspicious, he then returned to his table.

He listened to the now drunken Immortals mourn their dead leader, and then one by one the long coated people left the bar, leaving their new shepherd behind. Most of the Immortals headed to various hotels. Two of them had a drunken brawl near one of the shabbier lodgings, and then ended up spending the night in a holding cell after the police patrol sent to stop the fight found real swords on them. The weapons were confiscated, but at least the men still had their heads.

All in all a good night for Jacques Durmond.

He had been crushed ever since he heard of Cassandra's death. He hadn't been one of the chosen who'd been sent after the monster, but he had loved her nevertheless. And he had sworn that he'd finish her work. Now that he was the leader of their little order, he felt it as his duty to get rid of the monster as soon as possible. After their prophet's demise, some of her followers had left, and not a day went by that at least one of the little group didn't simply walk away. It had been pure luck that he'd been able to get three new members join them that evening. 

Pulling some bills from his wallet, he handed the money to the bartender, who had been dozing off in the back room, and then headed out.

Only a few yards from the bar, he felt a Presence. Turning instinctively to meet the other Immortal, Durmond smiled as he saw Wellingford stepping out from the shadows. "Rupus? What are you still doing here?" His eyes widened as his new friend pulled his sword. "Hey! What's with the sword?"

The heavily accented voice was low, almost a growl. "I'm Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

Durmond's hands shook as he grabbed his sword. Looking at the face of the man who had suddenly become a stranger, he knew that in just a few minutes he'd be joining his beloved Cassandra.

* * *

The End 


End file.
